ODD 
NUMBERS 


JEWELL    FORD 


, 


ODD  NUMBERS 

BEING  FURTHER  CHRONICLES 
OF  SHORTY  McCABE 


BY 

SEWELL  FORD 

AUTHOR  OF 
TRYING  OUT  TORCHY.  ETC. 


Illustrations  by 

F.  VAUX  WILSON 


N  EW    YORK 

GROSSET    &    DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT,  1908,  1909,  1910,  1911,  BY 
SEWELL   FORD 


COPYRIGHT,  1912,  BT 
EDWARD    J.    CLODS 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  GOLIAH  AND  THE  PURPLE  LlD       ....  1 

II.  How  MAIZIE  CAME  THROUGH      ....  17 

III.  WHERE  SPOTTY  FITTED  IN 35 

IV.  A  GRANDMOTHER  WHO  GOT  GOING     ...  50 
V.  A  LONG  SHOT  ON  DELANCET       ....  67 

VI.  PLATING  HAROLD  BOTH  WAYS     ....  84 

VII.  CORNELIA  SHOWS  SOME  CLASS     ....  100 

VIII.    DOPING  OUT  AN  ODD  ONE 116 

IX.    HANDING  BOBBY  A  BLANK 134 

X.  MARMADUKE  SLIPS  ONE  OVER     ....  151 

XI.  A  LOOK  IN  ON  THE  GOAT  GAME         .       .        .  167 

XII.  MRS.  TRUCKLES'  BROAD  JUMP     ....  183 

XIII.  HEINEY  TAKES  THE  GLOOM  CURB       .        .    »  .  199 

XIV.  A  TRY-OUT  FOR  TOODLEISM         ....  214 
XV.  THE  CASE  OF  THE  TISCOTTS         ....  230 

XVI.  CLASSING  TUTWATER  RIGHT         ....  246 

XVII.  How  HERMY  PUT  IT  OVEB         .        .        .        .262 

XVIII.    JOY  RIDING  WITH  AUNTY 279 

XIX.  TURNING  A  TRICK  FOR  BEANT            .       .       .  294 


ODD  NUMBERS 

CHAPTER  I 

GOLIAH  AND  THE  PURPLE  LID 

ONE  of  my  highbrow  reg'lars  at  the 
Physical  Culture  Studio,  a  gent  that 
mixes  up  in  charity  works,  like  or- 
ganizin'  debatin'  societies  in  the  deaf  and  dumb 
asylums,  was  tellin'  me  awhile  back  of  a  great 
scheme  of  his  to  help  out  the  stranger  in  our 
fair  village.  He  wants  to  open  public  informa- 
tion bureaus,  where  a  jay  might  go  and  find  out 
anything  he  wanted  to  know,  from  how  to  locate 
a  New  Thought  church,  to  the  nearest  place 
where  he  could  buy  a  fresh  celluloid  collar. 

"  Get  the  idea?  "  says  he.  "  A  public 
bureau  where  strangers  in  New  York  would  be 
given  courteous  attention,  friendly  advice,  and 
that  sort  of  thing." 

"  What'stheuse?  "says  I.   "  Ain'tlhere?  " 

Course,  I  was  just  gettin'  over  a  josh.     But 

say,  it  ain't  all  a  funny  dream,  either.     Don't  a 

lot  of  'em  come  my  way?    Maybe  it's  because 

I'm  so  apt  to  lay  myself  open  to  the  confidential 


2  ODD  NUMBERS 

tackle.  But  somehow,  when  I  see  one  of  these 
tourist  freaks  sizin'  me  up,  and  lookin'  kind  of 
dazed  and  lonesome,  I  can't  chuck  him  back  the 
frosty  stare.  I've  been  a  stray  in  a  strange 
town  myself.  So  I  gen 'rally  tries  to  seem  half- 
way human,  and  if  he  opens  up  with  some  shot 
on  the  weather,  I  let  him  get  in  the  follow-up 
questions  and  take  the  chances. 

Here  the  other  day,  though,  I  wa'n't  lookin' 
for  anything  of  the  kind.  I  was  just  joltin' 
down  my  luncheon  with  a  little  promenade  up 
the  sunny  side  of  Avenue  V,  taking  in  the  ex- 
hibits— things  in  the  show  windows  and  folks 
on  the  sidewalks — as  keen  as  if  I'd  paid  in  my 
dollar  at  some  ticket  office. 

And  say,  where  can  you  beat  it?  I  see  it 
'most  every  day  in  the  year,  and  it's  always 
new.  There's  different  flowers  in  the  florists' 
displays,  new  fla'gs  hung  out  on  the  big  hotels, 
and  even  the  chorus  ladies  in  the  limousines  are 
changed  now  and  then. 

I  can't  figure  out  just  what  it  was  landed  me 
in  front  of  this  millinery  window.  Gen 'rally 
I  hurry  by  them  exhibits  with  a  shudder;  for 
once  I  got  gay  and  told  Sadie  to  take  her  pick, 
as  this  one  was  on  me;  and  it  was  months  Jbe- 
fore  I  got  over  the  shock  of  payin'  that  bill. 
But  there  I  finds  myself,  close  up  to  the  plate 
glass,  gawpin'  at  a  sample  of  what  can  be  done 
in  the  hat  line  when  the  Bureau  of  Obstructions 


GOLIAH  AND  THE  PUEPLE  LTD        3 

has  been  bought  off  and  nobody's  thought  of 
applyin'  the  statute  of  limitations. 

It 's  a  heliotrope  lid,  and  the  foundation  must 
have  used  up  enough  straw  to  bed  down  a  circus. 
It  has  the  dimensions  and  general  outlines  of  a 
summerhouse.  The  scheme  of  decoration  is 
simple  enough,  though.  The  top  of  this  helio- 
trope summerhouse  has  been  caught  in  a  helio- 
trope fog,  that's  all.  There's  yards  and  yards 
of  this  gauzy  stuff  draped  and  puffed  and  looped 
around  it,  with  only  a  wide  purple  ribbon 
showin'  here  and  there  and  keepin'  the  fog  in 
place. 

Well,  all  that  is  restin'  careless  in  a  box,  the 
size  of  a  quarter-mile  runnin'  track,  with  the 
cover  half  off.  And  it's  a  work  of  art  in  itself, 
that  box, — all  Looey  Cans  pictures,  and  a  thick 
purple  silk  cord  to  tie  it  up  with.  Why,  one 
glimpse  of  that  combination  was  enough  to 
make  me  clap  my  hand  over  my  roll  and  back 
away  from  the  spot ! 

Just  then,  though,  I  notices  another  gent  step- 
pin'  up  for  a  squint  at  the  monstrosity,  and  I 
can't  help  lingerin'  to  see  if  he  gets  the  same 
kind  of  a  shock.  He's  sort  of  a  queer  party, 
too, — short,  stoop  shouldered,  thin  faced, 
wrinkled  old  chap,  with  a  sandy  mustache 
mixed  some  with  gray,  and  a  pair  of  shrewd  lit- 
tle eyes  peerin'  out  under  bushy  brows.  Any- 
body could  spot  him  as  a  rutabaga  delegate  by 


4  ODD  NUMBERS 

the  high  crowned  soft  hat  and  the  back  number 
Ulster  that  he's  still  stickin'  to,  though  the  ther- 
mometer is  way  up  in  the  eighties. 

But  he  don't  seem  to  shy  any  at  the  purple 
lid.  He  sticks  his  head  out  first  this  way  and 
then  that,  like  a  turtle,  and  then  all  of  a  sudden 
he  shoots  over  kind  of  a  quizzin'  glance  at  me. 
I  can 't  help  but  give  him  the  grin.  At  that  his 
mouth  corners  wrinkle  up  and  the  little  gray 
eyes  begin  to  twinkle. 

"  Quite  a  hat,  eh?  "  he  chuckles. 

"  It's  goin'  some  in  the  lid  line,"  says  I. 

"  I  expect  that's  a  mighty  stylish  article, 
though, ' '  says  he. 

"  That's  the  bluff  the  store  people  are 
makin',"  says  I,  "  and  there's  no  law  against 
it." 

"  What  would  be  your  guess  on  the  price  of 
that  there,  now?  "  says  he,  edging  up. 

"  Ah,  let's  leave  such  harrowin'  details  to  the 
man  that  has  to  pay  for  it,"  says  I.  "  No  use 
in  our  gettin'  the  chilly  spine  over  what's 
marked  on  the  price  ticket;  that  is,  unless  you're 
thinking  of  investin',"  and  as  I  tips  him  the 
humorous  wink  I  starts  to  move  off. 

But  this  wa'n't  a  case  where  I  was  to  get 
out  so  easy.  He  comes  right  after  me.  "  Ex- 
cuse me,  neighbor,"  says  he;  "  but — but  that's 
exactly  what  I  was  thinking  of  doing,  if  it  wasn't 
too  infernally  expensive." 


GOLIAH  AND  THE  PURPLE  LID       5 

"  What!  "  says  I,  gazin'  at  him;  for  he  ain't 
the  kind  of  citizen  you'd  expect  to  find  indulgin' 
in  such  foolishness.  "  Oh,  well,  don't  mind  my 
remarks.  Go  ahead  and  blow  yourself.  You 
want  it  for  the  missus,  eh?  " 

"  Ye-e-es,"  he  drawls;  "  for — for  my  wife. 
Ah — er — would  it  be  asking  too  much  of  a 
stranger  if  I  should  get  you  to  step  in  there 
with  me  while  I  find  out  the  price  1  ' ' 

"  "Why,"  says  I,  lookin'  him  over  careful,— 
11  why,  I  don't  know  as  I'd  want  to  go  as  far 
as—  Well,  what's  the  object?  " 

"  You  see,"  says  he,  "I'm  sort  of  a  bashful 
person, — always  have  been, — and  I  don't  just 
like  to  go  in  there  alone  amongst  all  them  women 
folks.  But  the  fact  is,  I've  kind  of  got  my 
mind  set  on  having  that  hat,  and " 

"  Wife  ain't  in  town,  then?  "  says  I. 

"  No,"  says  he,  "  she's — she  isn't." 

"  Ain't  you  runnin'  some  risks,"  says  I, 
"  loadin'  up  with  a  lid  that  may  not  fit  her 
partic'lar  style  of  beauty?  ' 

"  That's  so,  that's  so,"  says  he.  "  Ought 
to  be  something  that  would  kind  of  jibe  with  her 
complexion  and  the  color  of  her  hair,  hadn't 
it?  " 

"  You've  surrounded  the  idea,"  says  I. 
"  Maybe  it  would  be  safer  to  send  for  her  to 
come  on." 

"  No,"  says  he;  "  couldn't  be  done.    But  see 


here,"  and  lie  takes  my  arm  and  steers  me  up 
the  avenue,  "  if  you  don't  mind  talking  this 
over,  I'd  like  to  tell  you  a  plan  I've  just  thought 
out." 

Well,  he'd  got  me  some  int 'rested  in  him  by 
that  time.  I  could  see  he  wa'n't  no  common 
Eube,  and  them  twinklin'  little  eyes  of  his  kind 
of  got  me.  So  I  tells  him  to  reel  it  off. 

"  Maybe  you  never  heard  of  me,"  he  goes  on; 
"  but  I'm  Goliah  Daggett,  from  South  Forks, 
lowy. ' ' 

"  Guess  I've  missed  hearin'  of  you,"  says  I. 

"  I  suppose  so,"  says  he,  kind  of  disap- 
pointed, though.  "  The  boys  out  there  call  me 
Gol  Daggett." 

"  Sounds  most  like  a  cusswork,"  says  I. 

"Yes,"  says  he;  "that's  one  reason  I'm 
pretty  well  known  in  the  State.  And  there  may 
be  other  reasons,  too."  He  lets  out  a  little 
chuckle  at  that ;  not  loud,  you  know,  but  just  as 
though  he  was  swallowin'  some  joke  or  other. 
It  was  a  specialty  of  his,  this  smothered  chuckle 
business.  "  Of  course,"  he  goes  on,  "  you 
needn't  tell  me  your  name,  unless— 

"It's  a  fair  swap,"  says  I.  "  Mine's  Mc- 
Cabe;  Shorty  for  short." 

"  Yes?  "  says  he.  "I  knew  a  McCabe  once. 
He — er — well,  he " 

"  Never  mind,"  says  I.  "  It's  a  big  fam'ly, 
and  there's  only  a  few  of  us  that's  real  credits 


GOLIAH  AND  THE  PURPLE  LID        7 

to  the  name.  But  about  this  scheme  of  yours, 
Mr.  Daggett?  " 

"  Certainly,"  says  he.  "  It's  just  this:  If  I 
could  find  a  woman  who  looked  a  good  deal  like 
nay  wife,  I  could  try  the  hat  on  her,  couldn't  I? 
She'd  do  as  well,  eh?  " 

"  I  don't  know  why  not,"  says  I. 

"  Well,"  says  he,  "I  know  of  just  such  a 
woman ;  saw  her  this  morning  in  my  hotel  barber 
shop,  where  I  dropped  in  for  a  haircut.  She 
was  one  of  these — What  do  you  call  'em  now?  ' 

"  Manicure  artists?  "  says  I. 

' '  That 's  it, ' '  says  he.  "  Asked  me  if  I  didn  't 
want  my  fingers  manicured ;  and,  by  jinks !  I  let 
her  do  it,  just  to  see  what  it  was  like.  Never 
felt  so  blamed  foolish  in  my  life!  Look  at 
them  fingernails,  will  you?  Been  parin'  'em 
with  a  jackknife  for  fifty-seven  years ;  and  she 
soaks  'em  out  in  a  bowl  of  perfumery,  jabs  un- 
der 'em  with  a  little  stick  wrapped  in  cotton, 
cuts  off  all  the  hang  nails,  files  'em  round  at  the 
ends,  and  polishes  'em  up  so  they  shine  as  if 
they  were  varnished !  He,  he !  Guess  the  boys 
would  laugh  if  they  could  have  seen  me." 

11  It's  one  experience  you've  got  on  me," 
says  I.  "  And  this  manicure  lady  is  a  ringer 
for  Mrs.  Daggett,  eh?  ' 

"  Well,  now,"  says  he,  scratchin'  his  chin, 
"  maybe  I  ought  to  put  it  that  she  looks  a  good 
deal  as  Mrs.  Daggett  might  have  looked  ten  or 


8  ODD  NUMBEES 

fifteen  years  ago  if  she'd  been  got  up  that  way, 
—same  shade  of  red  hair,  only  not  such  a  thun- 
derin'  lot  of  it;  same  kind  of  blue  eyes,  only  not 
so  wide  open  and  stary;  and  a  nose  and  chin 
that  I  couldn't  help  remarking.  Course,  now, 
you  understand  this  young  woman  was  fixed 
up  considerable  smarter  than  Mrs.  Daggett  ever 
was  in  her  life." 

"  If  she's  a  manicure  artist  in  one  of  them 
Broadway  hotels,"  says  I,  "  I  could  guess  that; 
specially  if  Mrs.  Daggett 's  always  stuck  to 
Iowa. ' ' 

"  Yes,  that's  right;  she  has,"  says  Daggett. 
"  But  if  she'd  had  the  same  chance  to  know 

what  to  wear  and  how  to  wear  it •    Well,  I 

wish  she'd  had  it,  that's  all.  And  she  wanted 
it.  My,  my!  how  she  did  hanker  for  such 
things,  Mr.  McCabe !  ' ' 

"  Well,  better  late  than  never,"  says  I. 

' '  No,  no !  "  says  he,  his  voice  kind  of  breakin* 
up.     "  That's  what  I  want  to  forget,  how- 
how  late  it  is !  "  and  hanged  if  he  don't  have  to 
fish  out  a  handkerchief  and  swab  off  his  eyes. 
"  You  see,"  he  goes  on,  "  Mar  thy 's  gone." 

1 1  Eh  f  "  says  I.     < '  You  mean  she 's— 

He  nods.  "  Four  years  ago  this  spring," 
says  he.  "  Typhoid." 

"  But,"  says  I,  "  how  about  this  hat?  " 

"  One  of  my  notions,"  says  he, — "  just  a 
foolish  idea  of  mine.  I'll  tell  you.  When  she 


GOLIAH  AND  THE  PURPLE  LID       9 

was  lying  there,  all  white  and  thin,  and  not 
caring  whether  she  ever  got  up  again  or  not,  a 
new  spring  hat  was  the  only  thing  I  could  get 
her  to  take  an  interest  in.  She'd  never  had 
what  you  might  call  a  real,  bang-up,  stylish  hat. 
Always  wanted  one,  too.  And  it  wasn't  be- 
cause I  was  such  a  mean  critter  that  she 
couldn't  have  had  the  money.  But  you  know 
how  it  is  in  a  little  place  like  South  Forks.  They 
don't  have  'em  in  stock,  not  the  kind  she  wanted, 
and  maybe  we  couldn't  have  found  one  nearer 
than  Omaha  or  Chicago;  and  someway  there 
never  was  a  spring  when  I  could  seem  to  fix 
things  so  we  could  take  the  trip.  Looked  kind 
of  foolish,  too,  traveling  so  far  just  to  get  a 
hat.  So  she  went  without,  and  put  up  with  what 
Miss  Simmons  could  trim  for  her.  They  looked 
all  right,  too,  and  I  used  to  tell  Marthy  they 
were  mighty  becoming ;  but  all  the  time  I  knew 
they  weren  't  just — well,  you  know. ' ' 

Say,  I  never  saw  any  specimens  of  Miss  Sim- 
mons'  art  works;  but  I  could  make  a  guess. 
And  I  nods  my  head. 

' '  Well, ' '  says  Daggett,  ' '  when  I  saw  that 
Marthy  was  kind  of  giving  up,  I  used  to  coax 
her  to  get  well.  *  You  just  get  on  your  feet 
once,  Marthy,'  says  I,  l  and  we'll  go  down  to 
Chicago  and  buy  you  the  finest  and  stylishest 
hat  we  can  find  in  the  whole  city.  More  than 
that,  you  shall  have  a  new  one  every  spring,  the 


10  ODD  NUMBEES 

very  best.'  She'd  almost  smile  at  that,  and 
half  promise  she'd  try.  But  it  wasn't  any  use. 
The  fever  hadn't  left  her  strength  enough.  And 
the  first  thing  I  knew  she  'd  slipped  away. ' ' 

Odd  sort  of  yarn  to  be  hearin'  there  on  Fifth- 
ave.  on  a  sunshiny  afternoon,  wa'n't  it  I  And 
us  dodgin'  over  crossin's,  and  duckin'  under 
awnin's,  and  sidesteppin'  the  foot  traffic!  But 
he  keeps  right  close  to  my  elbow  and  gives  me 
the  whole  story,  even  to  how  they'd  agreed  to 
use  the  little  knoll  just  back  of  the  farmhouse 
as  a  burial  plot,  and  how  she  marked  the  hymns 
she  wanted  sung,  and  how  she  wanted  him  to 
find  someone  else  as  soon  as  the  year  was  out. 

' (  Which  was  the  only  thing  I  couldn  't  say 
yes  to,"  says  Daggett.  "  *  No,  Marthy,'  says  I, 
1  not  unless  I  can  find  another  just  like  you.' — 
*  You'll  be  mighty  lonesome,  Goliah,'  says  she, 
'  and  you'll  be  wanting  to  change  your  flannels 
too  early.' — '  Maybe  so,'  says  I;  '  but  I  guess 
I'll  worry  along  for  the  rest  of  the  time  alone.' 
Yes,  sir,  Mr.  McCabe,  she  was  a  fine  woman, 
and  a  patient  one.  No  one  ever  knew  how  bad 
she  wanted  lots  of  things  that  she  might  of  had, 
and  gave  up.  You  see,  I  was  pretty  deep  in  the 
wheat  business,  and  every  dollar  I  could  get 
hold  of  went  to  buying  more  reapers  and  inter- 
ests in  elevator  companies  and  crop  options.  I 
was  bound  to  be  a  rich  man,  and  they  say  I  got 
there.  Yes,  I  guess  I  am  fairly  well  fixed." 


GOLIAH  AND  THE  PURPLE  LID      11 

It  wa'n't  any  chesty  crow,  but  more  like  a 
sigh,  and  as  we  stops  on  a  crossing  to  let  a  lady 
plutess  roll  by  in  her  brougham,  Mr.  Daggett 
he  sizes  up  the  costume  she  wore  and  shakes  his 
head  kind  of  regretful. 

"  That's  the  way  Marthy  should  have  been 
dressed,"  says  he.  "  She'd  have  liked  it.  And 
she'd  liked  a  hat  such  as  that  one  we  saw  back 
there;  that  is,  if  it's  the  right  kind.  I've  been 
buying  'em  kind  of  careless,  maybe." 

"  How's  that?  "  says  I. 

"  Oh!  "  says  he,  "  I  didn't  finish  telling  you 
about  my  fool  idea.  I've  been  getting  one  every 
spring,  the  best  I  could  pick  out  in  Chicago,  and 
carrying  it  up  there  on  the  knoll  where  Marthy 
is — and  just  leaving  it.  Go  on  now,  Mr.  Mc- 
Cabe;  laugh  if  you  want  to.  I  won't  mind.  I 
can  almost  laugh  at  myself.  Of  course, 
Marthy 's  beyond  caring  for  hats  now.  Still,  I 
like  to  leave  'em  there ;  and  I  like  to  think  per- 
haps she  does  know,  after  all.  So — so  I  want 
to  get  that  purple  one,  providing  it  would  be 
the  right  shade.  What  do  you  say!  " 

Talk  about  your  nutty  propositions,  eh?  But 
honest,  I  didn't  feel  even  like  crackin'  a  smile. 

"  Daggett,"  says  I,  "  you're  a  true  sport, 
even  if  you  have  got  a  few  bats  in  the  loft. 
Let's  go  back  and  get  quotations  on  the 
lid." 

"  I  wish,"  says  he,  "I  could  see  it  tried  on 


12  ODD  NUMBEES 

that  manicure  young  woman  first.     Suppose  we 
go  down  and  bring  her  up?  ' 

"  What  makes  you  think  she'll  come?  " 
says  I. 

"  Oh,  I  guess  she  will,"  says  he,  quiet  and 
thoughtful.  "  We'll  try,  anyway." 

And  say,  right  there  I  got  a  new  line  on 
him.  I  could  almost  frame  up  how  it  was  he'd 
started  in  as  a  bacon  borrowin'  homesteader, 
and  got  to  be  the  John  D.  of  his  county.  But 
I  could  see  he  was  up  against  a  new  deal  this 
trip.  And  as  it  was  time  for  me  to  be  gettin' 
down  towards  42d-st.  anyway,  I  goes  along. 
As  we  strikes  the  hotel  barber  shop  I  hangs  up 
on  the  end  of  the  cigar  counter  while  Daggett 
looks  around  for  the  young  woman  who'd  put 
the  chappy  polish  on  his  nails. 

"  That's  her,"  says  he,  pointing  out  a  heavy- 
weight Titian  blonde  in  the  far  corner,  and  over 
he  pikes. 

I  couldn't  help  admirin'  the  nerve  of  him; 
for  of  all  the  1'ongoline  queens  I  ever  saw,  she's 
about  the  haughtiest.  Maybe  you  can  throw 
on  the  screen  a  picture  of  a  female  party  with  a 
Lillian  Eussell  shape,  hair  like  Mrs.  Leslie  Car- 
ter's, and  an  air  like  a  twelve-dollar  cloak  model 
showin'  off  a  five  hundred-dollar  lace  dress  to 
a  bookmaker's  bride. 

Just  as  Daggett  tiptoes  up  she's  pattin'  down 
some  of  the  red  puffs  that  makes  the  back  of 


GOLIAH  AND  THE  PURPLE  LID      13 

her  head  look  like  a  burnin'  oil  tank,  and  she 
swings  around  languid  and  scornful  to  see  who 
it  is  that  dares  butt  in  on  her  presence.  All  the 
way  she  recognizes  him  is  by  a  little  lift  of  the 
eyebrows. 

I  don't  need  to  hear  the  dialogue.  I  can  tell 
by  her  expression  what  Daggett  is  saying.  First 
there's  a  kind  of  condescendin'  curiosity  as  he 
begins,  then  she  looks  bored  and  turns  back  to 
the  mirror,  and  pretty  soon  she  sings  out, 
"  What's  that?  "  so  you  could  hear  her  all  over 
the  shop.  Then  Daggett  springs  his  proposi- 
tion flat. 

"  Sir!  "  says  she,  jumpin'  up  and  glarin'  at 
him. 

Daggett  tries  to  soothe  her  down;  but  it's 
no  go. 

*  *  Mr.  Heinmuller !  ' '  she  calls  out,  and  the 
boss  barber  comes  steppin'  over,  leavin'  a  cus- 
tomer with  his  face  muffled  in  a  hot  towel. 
11  This  person,"  she  goes  on,  "  is  insulting!  ': 

"  Hey?  "  says  Heinmuller,  puffin'  out  his 
cheeks.  "  Vos  iss  dot?  " 

And  for  a  minute  it  looked  like  I'd  have  to 
jump  in  and  save  Daggett  from  being  chucked 
through  the  window.  I  was  just  preparin'  to 
grab  the  boss  by  the  collar,  too,  when  Daggett 
gets  in  his  fine  work.  Slippin'  a  ten  off  his  roll, 
he  passes  it  to  Heinmuller,  while  he  explains 
that  all  he  asked  of  the  lady  was  to  try 


14  ODD  NUMBERS 

on  a  hat  he  was  thinkin'  of  gettin'  for  his 
wife. 

"  That's  all,"  says  he.  "  No  insult  intended. 
And  of  course  I  expect  to  make  it  worth  while 
for  the  young  lady. ' ' 

I  don't  know  whether  it  was  the  smooth 
"  young  lady  "  business,  or  the  sight  of  the  fat 
roll  that  turned  the  trick;  but  the  tragedy  is 
declared  off.  Inside  of  three  minutes  the  boss 
tells  Daggett  that  Miss  Rooney  accepts  his  apol- 
ogy and  consents  to  go  if  he'll  call  a  cab. 

"  Why,  surely,"  says  he.  "  You'll  come 
along,  too,  won't  you,  McCabe?  Honest,  now, 
I  wouldn't  dare  do  this  alone." 

"  Too  bad  about  that  shy,  retirin'  disposition 
of  yours!  "  says  I.  "  Afraid  she'll  steal  you, 


But  he  hangs  onto  my  sleeve  and  coaxes  me 
until  I  give  in.  And  we  sure  made  a  fine  trio 
ridin'  up  Fifth-ave.  in  a  taxi!  But  you  should 
have  seen  'em  in  the  millinery  shop  as  we  sails 
in  with  Miss  Eooney,  and  Daggett  says  how 
he'd  like  a  view  of  that  heliotrope  lid  in  the 
window.  We  had  'em  guessin',  all  right. 

Then  they  gets  Miss  Booney  in  a  chair  before 
the  mirror,  and  fits  the  monstrosity  on  top  of 
her  red  hair.  Well,  say,  what  a  difference  it 
does  make  in  them  freak  bonnets  whether 
they're  in  a  box  or  on  the  right  head!  For 
Miss  Eooney  has  got  just  the  right  kind  of  a 


GOLIAH  AND  THE  PUEPLE  LID      15 

face  that  hat  was  built  to  go  with.  It's  a  bit 
giddy,  I'll  admit;  but  she's  a  stunner  in  it. 
And  does  she  notice  it  any  herself?  Well, 
some! 

"  A  triumph!  "  gurgles  the  saleslady,  lookin' 
from  one  to  the  other  of  us,  tryin'  to  figure  out 
who  she  ought  to  play  to. 

"  It's  a  game  combination,  all  right,"  says  I, 
lookin'  wise. 

"  I  only  wish "  begins  Daggett,  and  then 

swallows  the  rest  of  it.  In  a  minute  he  steps 
up  and  says  it'll  do,  and  that  the  young  lady  is 
to  pick  out  one  for  herself  now. 

"  Oh,  how  perfectly  sweet  of  you!  "  says 
Miss  Rooney,  slippin'  him  a  smile  that  should 
have  had  him  clear  through  the  ropes.  "  But 
if  I  am  to  have  any,  why  not  this?  "  and  she 
balances  the  heliotrope  lid  on  her  fingers,  lookin' 
it  over  yearnin'  and  tender.  "  It  just  suits  me, 
doesn't  it?  " 

Then  there's  more  of  the  coy  business,  aimed 
straight  at  Daggett.  But  Miss  Rooney  don't 
quite  put  it  across. 

"  That's  going  out  to  lowy  with  me,"  says 
he,  prompt  and  decided. 

"  Oh!  "  says  Miss  Rooney,  and  she  proceeds 
to  pick  out  a  white  straw  with  a  green  ostrich 
feather  a  yard  long.  She  was  still  lookin' 
puzzled,  though,  as  we  put  her  into  the  cab  and 
started  her  back  to  the  barber  shop. 


16  ODD  NUMBEES 

"  Must  have  set  you  back  near  a  hundred, 
didn't  they?  "  says  I,  as  Daggett  and  I  parts 
on  the  corner. 

"  Almost,"  says  he.  "  But  it's  worth  it. 
Marthy  would  have  looked  mighty  stylish  in 
that  purple  one.  Yes,  yes!  And  when  I  get 
back  to  South  Forks,  the  first  thing  I  do  will  be 
to  carry  it  up  on  the  knoll,  box  and  all,  and 
leave  it  there.  I  wonder  if  she'll  know,  eh?  ' 

There  wa'n't  any  use  in  my  tellin'  him  what 
I  thought,  though.  He  wa'n't  talkin'  to  me, 
anyway.  There  was  a  kind  of  a  far  off,  batty 
look  in  his  eyes  as  he  stood  there  on  the  corner, 
and  a  drop  of  brine  was  tricklin '  down  one  side 
of  his  nose.  So  we  never  says  a  word,  but  just 
shakes  hands,  him  goin'  his  way,  and  me  mine. 

"  Cheel  "  says  Swifty  Joe,  when  I  shows  up, 
along  about  three  o  'clock, ' '  you  must  have  been 
puttin'  away  a  hearty  lunch!  ': 

"  It  wa'n't  that  kept  me,"  says  I.  "  I  was 
helpin'  hand  a  late  one  to  Marthy." 


CHAPTER  II 

HOW    MAIZIE    CAME   THROUGH 

THEN  again,  there's  other  kinds  from  other 
States,  and  no  two  of  'em  alike.  They  float  in 
from  all  quarters,  some  on  ten-day  excursions, 
and  some  with  no  return  ticket.  And,  of  course, 
they're  all  jokes  to  us  at  first,  while  we  never 
suspicion  that  all  along  we  may  be  jokes  to 
them. 

And  say,  between  you  and  me,  we're  apt  to 
think,  ain't  we,  that  all  the  rapid  motion  in  the 
world  gets  its  start  right  here  in  New  York? 
Well,  that's  the  wrong  dope.  For  instance, 
once  I  got  next  to  a  super-energized  specimen 
that  come  in  from  the  north  end  of  nowhere,  and 
before  I  was  through  the  experience  had  left 
me  out  of  breath. 

It  was  while  Sadie  and  me  was  livin'  at  the 
Perzazzer  hotel,  before  we  moved  out  to  Eock- 
hurst-on-the-Sound.  Early  one  evenin'  we 
was  sittin',  as  quiet  and  domestic  as  you  please, 
in  our  twelve  by  fourteen  cabinet  finished  dinin' 
room  on  the  seventh  floor.  We  was  gazin'  out 
of  the  open  windows  watchin'  a  thunder  storm 
meander  over  towards  Long  Island,  ^nd  Tidson 

17 


18  ODD  NUMBERS 

was  just  servin'  the  demitasses,  when  there's 
a  ring  on  the  'phone.  Tidson,  he  puts  down  the 
tray  and  answers  the  call. 

"  It's  from  the  office,  sir,"  says  he.  "  Some 
one  to  see  you,  sir." 

"  Me?  "  says  I.  "  Get  a  description,  Tidson, 
so  I'll  know  what  to  expect." 

At  that  he  asks  the  room  clerk  for  details, 
and  reports  that  it's  two  young  ladies  by  the 
name  of  Blickens. 

"  What!  "  says  Sadie,  prickin'  up  her  ears. 
11  You  don't  know  any  young  women  of  that 
name;  do  you,  Shorty!  " 

"  Why  not?  "  says  I.  "  How  can  I  tell  until 
I've  looked  'em  over!  " 

* '  Humph !  ' '  says  she.     *  *  Blickens !  ' ' 

"  Sounds  nice,  don't  it?  "  says  I.  "  Kind  of 
snappy  and  intcrestin'.  Maybe  I'd  better  go 
down  and " 

"  Tidson,"  says  Sadie,  "  tell  them  to  send 
those  young  persons  up  here !  ' ' 

"That's  right,  Tidson,"  says  I.  "Don't 
mind  anything  I  say." 

"  Blickens,  indeed!  "  says  Sadie,  eyin'  me 
sharp,  to  see  if  I'm  blushin'  or  gettin'  nervous. 
"  I  never  heard  you  mention  any  such  name." 

"  There's  a  few  points  about  my  past  life," 
says  I,  "  that  I've  had  sense  enough  to  keep 
to  myself.  Maybe  this  is  one.  Course,  if  your 
curiosity— 


HOW  MAIZIE  CAME  THROUGH      19 

"  I'm  not  a  bit  curious,  Shorty  McCabe,"  she 
snaps  out,  "  and  you  know  it!  But  when  it 
comes  to 

"  The  Misses  Blickens,"  says  Tidson,  holdin' 
back  the  draperies  with  one  hand,  and  smoth- 
erin'  a  grin  with  the  other. 

Say,  you  couldn't  blame  him.  What  steps  in 
is  a  couple  of  drippy  females  that  look  like 
they'd  just  been  fished  out  of  a  tank.  And  bein' 
wet  wa'n't  the  worst  of  it.  Even  if  they'd  been 
dry,  they  must  have  looked  bad  enough ;  but  in 
the  soggy  state  they  was  the  limit. 

They  wa'n't  mates.  One  is  tall  and  willowy, 
while  the  other  is  short  and  dumpy.  And  the 
fat  one  has  the  most  peaceful  face  I  ever  saw 
outside  of  a  pasture,  with  a  reg'lar  Holstein- 
Friesian  set  of  eyes, — the  round,  calm,  thought- 
less kind.  The  fact  that  she's  chewin'  gum 
helps  out  the  dairy  impression,  too.  It's  plain 
she 's  been  caught  in  the  shower  and  has  sopped 
up  her  full  share  of  the  rainfall;  but  it  don't 
seem  to  trouble  her  any. 

There  ain't  anything  pastoral  about  the  tall 
one,  though.  She's  alive  all  the  way  from  her 
runover  heels  to  the  wiggly  end  of  the  limp 
feather  that  flops  careless  like  over  one  ear. 
She's  the  long-waisted,  giraffe-necked  kind;  but 
not  such  a  bad  looker  if  you  can  forget  the  de- 
pressin'  costume.  It  had  been  a  blue  cheviot 
once,  I  guess;  the  sort  that  takes  on  seven 


20  ODD  NUMBEBS 

shades  of  purple  about  the  second  season.  And 
it  fits  her  like  a  damp  tablecloth  hung  on  a  chair. 
Her  runnin'  mate  is  all  in  black,  and  you  could 
tell  by  the  puckered  seams  and  the  twisted 
sleeves  that  it  was  an  outfit  the  village  dress- 
maker had  done  her  worst  on. 

Not  that  they  gives  us  much  chance  for  a 
close  size-up.  The  lengthy  one  pikes  right  into 
the  middle  of  the  room,  brushes  a  stringy  lock 
of  hair  off  her  face,  and  unlimbers  her  con- 
versation works. 

"  Gosh!  "  says  she,  openin'  her  eyes  wide 
and  lookin'  round  at  the  rugs  and  furniture. 
"  Hope  we  haven't  pulled  up  at  the  wrong 
ranch.  Are  you  Shorty  McCabe?  ' 

"  Among  old  friends,  I  am,"  says  I.  "  Now 
if  you  come  under " 

"  It's  all  right,  Phemey,"  says  she,  mo- 
tionin'  to  the  short  one.  "  Sit  down." 

"  Sure!  "  says  I.  "  Don't  mind  the  furni- 
ture. Take  a  couple  of  chairs." 

"Not  for  me!"  says  the  tall  one.  "I'll 
stand  in  one  spot  and  drip,  and  then  you  can 
mop  up  afterwards.  But  Phemey,  she's  plumb 
tuckered. ' ' 

"  It's  sweet  of  you  to  run  in,"  says  I.  "  Been 
wadin'  in  the  park  lake,  or  enjoyin'  the 
shower?  " 

"  Enjoying  the  shower  is  good,"  says  she; 
"  but  I  hadn't  thought  of  describing  it  that 


HOW  MAIZIE  CAME  THROUGH      21 

way.  I  reckon,  though,  you'd  like  to  hear  who 
we  are. ' ' 

' '  Oh,  any  time  when  you  get  to  that, ' '  says  I. 

"  That's  a  joke,  is  it?  "  says  she.  "  If  it  is, 
Ha,  ha!  Excuse  me  if  I  don't  laugh  real 
hearty.  I  can  do  better  when  I  don't  feel  so 
much  like  a  sponge.  Maizie  May  Blickens  is 
my  name,  and  this  is  Euphemia  Blickens." 

"  Ah!  "  says  I.     "  Sisters?  " 

"  Do  we  look  it?  '  says  Maizie.  "  No! 
First  cousins  on  the  whiskered  side.  Ever 
hear  that  name  Blickens  before?  " 

"  Why — er — why "  says  I,  scratchin'  my 

head. 

lt  Don't  dig  too  deep,"  says  Maizie.  "  How 
about  Blickens '  skating  rink  in  Kansas  City  ?  ' 

1 '  Oh !  ' '  says  I.  ' '  Was  it  run  by  a  gent  they 
called  Sport  Blickens?  " 

' '  It  was, ' '  says  she. 

* '  Why,  sure, ' '  I  goes  on.  * '  And  the  night  I 
had  my  match  there  with  the  Pedlar,  when  I'd 
spent  my  last  bean  on  a  month's  trainin'  ex- 
penses, and  the  Pedlar's  backer  was  wavin'  a 
thousand-dollar  side  bet  under  my  nose,  this 
Mr.  Blickens  chucked  me  his  roll  and  told  me 
to  call  the  bluff." 

"  Yes,  that  was  dad,  all  right,"  says  Maizie. 

"  It  was!  "  says  I.  "  Well,  well!  Now  if 
there's  anything  I  can  do  for " 

"Whoa  up!"   says   Maizie.     "This   is  no 


22  ODD  NUMBERS 

grubstake  touch.  Let's  get  that  off  our  minds 
first,  though  I'm  just  as  much  obliged.  It's 
come  out  as  dad  said.  Says  he,  '  If  you're  ever 
up  against  it,  and  can  locate  Shorty  McCabe, 
you  go  to  him  and  say  who  you  are.'  But  this 
isn't  exactly  that  kind  of  a  case.  Phemey  and 

I  may  look  a  bit  rocky  and Say,  how  do  we 

look,  anyway?    Have  you  got  such  a  thing  as 

d"  ••— •  •  •- 

"  Tidson,"  says  Sadie,  breakin'  in,  "  you 
may  roll  in  the  pier  glass  for  the  young  lady." 
Course,  that  reminds  me  I  ain't  done  the  honors. 

"  Excuse  me,"  says  I.  "  Miss  Blickens,  this 
is  Mrs.  McCabe." 

'  *  Howdy, ' '  says  Maizie.  ' '  I  was  wondering 
if  it  wasn't  about  due.  Goshety  gosh!  but 

you're  all  to  the  peaches,  eh?    And  me 

Here  she  turns  and  takes  a  full  length  view  of 
herself.  "  Suffering  scarecrows!  Say,  why 
didn't  you  put  up  the  bars  on  us?  Don't  you 
look,  Phemey;  you'd  swallow  your  gum!  ' 

But  Euphemia  ain't  got  any  idea  of  turnin' 
her  head.  She  has  them  peaceful  eyes  of  hers 
glued  to  Sadie's  copper  hair,  and  she's  con- 
tented to  yank  away  at  her  cud.  For  a  con- 
sistent and  perseverin'  masticator,  she  has  our 
friend  Fletcher  chewed  to  a  standstill.  Maizie 
is  soon  satisfied  with  her  survey. 

"  That'll  do,  take  it  away,"  says  she.  "  If 
I  ever  get  real  stuck  on  myself,  I'll  have  some- 


HOW  MAIZIE  CAME  THROUGH      23 

thing  to  remember.  But,  as  I  was  sayin',  this 
is  no  case  of  an  escape  from  the  poor  farm.  We 
wore  these  Hetty  Green  togs  when  we  left 
Dobie." 

"  Dobie?  "says  I. 

'  *  Go  on,  laugh !  ' '  says  Maizie.  ' '  Dobie 's 
the  biggest  joke  and  the  slowest  four  corners  in 
the  State  of  Minnesota,  and  that's  putting  it 
strong.  Look  at  Phemey;  she's  a  native." 

Well,  we  looked  at  Phemey.  Couldn't  help 
it.  Euphemia  don't  seem  to  mind.  She  don't 
even  grin;  but  just  goes  on  workin'  her  jaws 
and  lookin'  placid. 

"  Out  in  Dobie  that  would  pass  for  hys- 
terics," says  Maizie.  "  The  only  way  they 
could  account  for  me  was  by  saying  that  I  was 
born  crazy  in  another  State.  I've  had  a  good 
many  kinds  of  hard  luck;  but  being  born  in 
Dobie  wasn't  one  of  the  varieties.  Now  can  you 
stand  the  story  of  my  life  ?  ' 

"  Miss  Blickens,"  says  I,  "  I'm  willin'  to  pay 
you  by  the  hour." 

"  It  isn't  so  bad  as  all  that,"  says  she,  "  be- 
cause precious  little  has  ever  happened  to  me. 
It's  what's  going  to  happen  that  I'm  living  for. 
But,  to  take  a  fair  start,  we'll  begin  with  dad. 
When  they  called  him  Sport  Blickens,  they 
didn't  stretch  their  imaginations.  He  was  all 
that — and  not  much  else.  All  I  know  about 
maw  is  that  she  was  one  of  three,  and  that  I  was 


24  ODD  NUMBEES 

born  in  the  back  room  of  a  Denver  dance  hall. 
I've  got  a  picture  of  her,  wearing  tights  and  a 
tin  helmet,  and  dad  says  she  was  a  hummer. 
He  ought  to  know ;  he  was  a  pretty  good  judge. 

"  As  I  wasn't  much  over  two  days  old  when 
they  had  the  funeral,  I  can't  add  anything  more 
about  maw.  And  the  history  I  could  write  of 
dad  would  make  a  mighty  slim  book.  Eunning 
roller  skating  rinks  was  the  most  genteel  busi- 
ness he  ever  got  into,  I  guess.  His  regular  pro- 
fession was  faro.  It's  an  unhealthy  game, 
especially  in  those  gold  camps  where  they  shoot 
so  impetuous.  He  got  over  the  effects  of  two 
.38 's  dealt  him  by  a  halfbreed  Sioux;  but  when 
a  real  bad  man  from  Taunton,  Massachusetts, 
opened  up  on  him  across  the  table  with  a  .45,  he 
just  naturally  got  discouraged.  Good  old  dad  I 
He  meant  well  wjien  he  left  me  in  Dobie  and 
had  me  adopted  by  Uncle  Hen.  Phemey,  you 
needn't  listen  to  this  next  chapter." 

Euphemia,  she  misses  two  jaw  strokes  in  suc- 
cession, rolls  her  eyes  at  Maizie  May  for  a 
second,  and  then  strikes  her  reg'lar  gait  again. 

"  Excuse  her  getting  excited  like  that,"  says 
Maizie;  "but  Uncle  Hen — that  was  her  old 
man,  of  course — hasn't  been  planted  long.  He 
lasted  until  three  weeks  ago.  He  was  an  awful 
good  man,  Uncle  Hen  was — to  himself.  He  had 
the  worst  case  of  ingrowing  religion  you  ever 
saw.  Why,  he  had  a  thumb  felon  once,  and 


HOW  MAIZIE  CAME  THROUGH      25 

when  the  doctor  came  to  lance  it  Uncle  Hen 
made  him  wait  until  he  could  call  in  the  min- 
ister, so  it  could  be  opened  with  prayer. 

"  Sundays  he  made  us  go  to  church  twice, 
and  the  rest  of  the  day  he  talked  to  us  about 
cur  souls.  Between  times  he  ran  the  Palace 
Emporium;  that  is,  he  and  I  and  a  half  baked 
Swede  by  the  name  of  Jens  Torkil  did.  To  look 
at  Jens  you  wouldn't  have  thought  he  could 
have  been  taught  the  difference  between  a  can 
of  salmon  and  a  patent  corn  planter;  but  say, 
Uncle  Hen  had  him  trained  to  make  short 
change  and  weigh  his  hand  with  every  piece  of 
salt  pork,  almost  as  slick  as  he  could  do  it 
himself. 

"  All  I  had  to  do  was  to  tend  the  drygoods, 
candy,  and  drug  counters,  look  after  the  post- 
office  window,  keep  the  books,  and  manage  the 
telephone  exchange.  Euphemia  had  the  softest 
snap,  though.  She  did  the  housework,  planted 
the  garden,  raised  chickens,  fed  the  hogs,  and 
scrubbed  the  floors.  Have  I  got  the  catalogue 
right,  Phemey?  " 

Euphemia  blinks  twice,  kind  of  reminiscent; 
but  nothin'  in  the  shape  of  words  gets  through 
the  gum. 

"  She  has  such  an  emotional  nature!  "  says 
Maizie.  "  Uncle  Hen  was  like  that  too.  But 
let's  not  linger  over  him.  He's  gone.  The  last 
thing  he  did  was  to  let  go  of  a  dollar  fifty  in 


26  ODD  NUMBERS 

cash,  that  I  held  him  up  for  so  Phemey  and  I 
could  go  into  Duluth  and  see  a  show.  The  end 
came  early  next  day,  and  whether  it  was  from 
shock  or  enlargement  of  the  heart,  no  one  will 
ever  know. 

"  It  was  an  awful  blow  to  us  all.  "We  went 
around  in  a  daze  for  nearly  a  week,  hardly  dar- 
ing to  believe  that  it  could  be  so.  Jens  broke 
the  spell  for  us.  One  morning  I  caught  him 
helping  himself  to  a  cigar  out  of  the  two-fer 
box.  '  Why  not?  '  says  he.  Next  Phemey 
walks  in,  swipes  a  package  of  wintergreen  gum, 
and  feeds  it  all  in  at  once.  She  says,  '  Why 
not?  '  too.  Then  I  woke  up.  *  You're  right/ 
says  I.  *  Enjoy  yourself.  It's  time.'  Next  I 
hints  to  her  that  there  are  bigger  and  brighter 
spots  on  this  earth  than  Dobie,  and  asks  her 
what  she  says  to  selling  the  Emporium  and 
hunting  them  up.  *  I  don't  care,'  says  she, 
and  that  was  a  good  deal  of  a  speech  for  her 
to  make.  '  Do  you  leave  it  to  me?  '  says  I. 
'  Uh-huh, '  says  she.  '  We-e-e-ough !  '  says  I, ' ' 
and  with  that  Maizie  lets  out  one  of  them  back- 
woods college  cries  that  brings  Tidson  up  on 
his  toes. 

"  I  take  it,"  says  I,  "  that  you  did." 
"  Did  II  "  says  she.    "  Inside  of  three  days 
I'd    hustled    up    four    different    parties    that 
wanted  to  invest  in  a  going  concern,  and  be- 
fore the  week  was  over  I'd  buncoed  one  of  'em 


HOW  MAIZIE  CAME  THROUGH      27 

out  of  nine  thousand  in  cash.  Most  of  it's  in  a 
certified  check,  sewed  inside  of  Phemey,  and 
that's  why  we  walked  all  the  way  up  here  in  the 
rain.  Do  you  suppose  you  could  take  me  to 
some  bank  to-morrow  where  I  could  leave  that 
and  get  a  handful  of  green  bills  on  account1? 
Is  that  asking  too  much?  ' 

"  Considering  the  way  you've  brushed  up  my 
memory  of  Sport  Blickens,"  says  I,  "  it's  real 
modest.  Couldn't  you  think  of  something 
else!  " 

"  If  that  had  come  from  Mrs.  McCabe,"  says 
she,  eyin'  Sadie  kind  of  longin',  "  I  reckon  I 
could." 

' 'Why,"  says  Sadie,  "I  should  be  de- 
lighted." 

"  You  wouldn't  go  so  far  as  to  lead  two  such 
freaks  as  us  around  to  the  stores  and  help  us 
pick  out  some  New  York  clothes,  would  you?  ' 
says  she. 

"  My  dear  girl!  "  says  Sadie,  grabbin'  both 
her  hands.  "  We'll  do  it  to-morrow." 

"  Honest?  "  says  Maizie,  beamin'  on  her. 
"  Well,  that's  what  I  call  right  down  decent. 
Phemey,  do  you  hear  that!  Oh,  swallow  it, 
Phemey,  swallow  it!  This  is  where  we  bloom 
out!  " 

And  say,  you  should  have  heard  them  talkin' 
over  the  kind  of  trousseaus  that  would  best  help 
a  girl  to  forget  she  ever  came  from  Dobie. 


28  ODD  NUMBEKS 

"  You  /will  need  a  neat  cloth  street  dress,  for 
afternoons,"  says  Sadie. 

"  Not  for  me!  "  says  Maizie.  "  That'll  do 
all  right  for  Phemey;  but  when  it  comes  to  me, 
I'll  take  something  that  rustles.  I've  worn 
back  number  cast-offs  for  twenty-two  years; 
now  I'm  ready  for  the  other  kind.  I've  been 
traveling  so  far  behind  the  procession  I  couldn  't 
tell  which  way  it  was  going.  Now  I'm  going  to 
give  the  drum  major  a  view  of  my  back  hair. 
The  sort  of  costumes  I  want  are  the  kind  that 
are  designed  this  afternoon  for  day  after  to- 
morrow. If  it's  checks,  I'll  take  two  to  the 
piece;  if  it's  stripes,  I  want  to  make  a  circus 
zebra  look  like  a  clipped  mule.  And  I  want  a 
change  for  every  day  in  the  week." 

"  But,  my  dear  girl,"  says  Sadie,  "  can  you 
afford  to " 

' '  You  bet  I  can !  ' '  says  Maizie.  ' '  My  share 
of  Uncle  Hen's  pile  is  forty-five  hundred  dol- 
lars, and  while  it  lasts  I'm  going  to  have  the 
lilies  of  the  field  looking  like  the  flowers  you 
see  on  attic  wall  paper.  I  don't  care  what  I 
have  to  eat,  or  where  I  stay ;  but  when  it  comes 
to  clothes,  show  me  the  limit !  But  say,  I  guess 
it's  time  we  were  getting  back  to  our  boarding- 
house.  Wake  up,  Phemey!  ' 

Well,  I  pilots  'em  out  to  Fifth-ave.,  stows  'em 
into  a  motor  stage,  and  heads  'em  down  town. 

' '  Whew !  ' '  says  Sadie,  when  I  gets  back.  ' '  I 


HOW  MAIZIE  CAME  THROUGH      29 

suppose  that  is  a  sample  of  Western  breezi- 
ness." 

"  It's  more'n  a  sample,"  says  I.  "  But  I  can 
see  her  finish,  though.  Inside  of  three  months 
all  she'll  have  left  to  show  for  her  wad  will  be 
a  trunk  full  of  fancy  regalia  and  a  board  bill. 
Then  it  will  be  Maizie  hunting  a  job  in  some 
beanery." 

"  Oh,  I  shall  talk  her  out  of  that  nonsense," 
says  Sadie.  "  What  she  ought  to  do  is  to  take 
a  course  in  stenography  and  shorthand." 

Yes,  we  laid  out  a  full  programme  for  Maizie, 
and  had  her  earnin'  her  little  twenty  a  week, 
with  Phemey  keepin'  house  for  both  of  'em  in 
a  nice  little  four-room  flat.  And  in  the  mornin' 
I  helps  her  deposit  the  certified  check,  and  then 
turns  the  pair  over  to  Sadie  for  an  assault  on 
the  department  stores,  with  a  call  at  a  business 
college  as  a  finish  for  the  day,  as  we'd  planned. 

When  I  gets  home  that  night  I  finds  Sadie  all 
fagged  out  and  drinkin'  bromo  seltzer  for  a 
headache. 

"  What's  wrong?  "  says  I. 

"  Nothing,"  says  Sadie;  "  only  I've  been 
having  the  time  of  my  life. ' ' 

"  Buying  tailor  made  uniforms  for  the  Misses 
Blickens?  "  says  I. 

* '  Tailor  made  nothing !  ' '  says  Sadie.  ' '  It 
was  no  use,  Shorty,  I  had  to  give  in.  Maizie 
wanted  the  other  things  so  badly.  And  then 


30  ODD  NUMBERS 

Euphemia  declared  she  must  have  the  same 
kind.  So  I  spent  the  whole  day  fitting  them 
out." 

"  Got  'em  something  sudden  and  noisy,  eh?  " 
says  I. 

"  Just  wait  until  you  see  them,"  says  Sadie. 

"  But  what's  the  idea?  "  says  I.  "  How 
long  do  they  think  they  can  keep  up  that  pace? 
And  when  they've  blown  themselves  short  of 
breath,  what  then?  " 

* '  Heaven  knows !  ' '  says  Sadie.  ' '  But 
Maizie  has  plans  of  her  own.  When  I  men- 
tioned the  business  college,  she  just  laughed, 
and  said  if  she  couldn't  do  something  better 
than  pound  a  typewriter,  she'd  go  back  to  Do- 
bie." 

"  Huh!  "  says  I.  "  Sentiments  like  that  has 
got  lots  of  folks  into  trouble." 

"  And  yet,"  says  Sadie,  "  Maizie 's  a  nice 
girl  in  her  way.  We'll  see  how  she  comes  out." 

We  did,  too.  It  was  a  couple  of  weeks  before 
we  heard  a  word  from  either  of  'em,  and  then 
the  other  day  Sadie  gets  a  call  over  the  'phone 
from  a  perfect  stranger.  She  says  she's  a  Mrs. 
Herman  Zorn,  of  West  End-ave.,  and  that  she's 
givin'  a  little  roof  garden  theater  party  that 
evenin',  in  honor  of  Miss  Maizie  Blickens,  an 
old  friend  of  hers  that  she  used  to  know  when 
she  lived  in  St.  Paul  and  spent  her  summers 
near  Dobie.  Also  she  understood  we  were 


HOW  MAIZIE  CAME  THROUGH      31 

friends  of  Miss  Blickens  too,  and  she'd  be 
pleased  to  have  ns  join. 

"West  End-ave.!"  says  I.  "Gee!  but  it 
looks  like  Maizie  had  been  able  to  butt  in.  Do 
we  go,  Sadie?  " 

' '  I  said  we  'd  be  charmed, ' '  says  she.  "  I  'm 
dying  to  see  how  Maizie  will  look. ' ' 

I  didn't  admit  it,  but  I  was  some  curious  that 
way  myself ;  so  about  eight-fifteen  we  shows  up 
at  the  roof  garden  and  has  an  usher  lead  us  to 
the  bunch.  There's  half  a  dozen  of  'em  on 
hand;  but  the  only  thing  worth  lookin'  at  was 
Maizie  May. 

And  say,  I  thought  I  could  make  a  guess  as 
to  somewhere  near  how  she  would  frame  up. 
The  picture  I  had  in  mind  was  a  sort  of  cross 
between  a  Grand-st.  Eebecca  and  an  Eighth- 
ave.  Lizzie  Maud, — you  know,  one  of  the  near 
style  girls,  that's  got  on  all  the  novelties  from 
ten  bargain  counters.  But,  gee!  The  view  I 
gets  has  me  gaspin'.  Maizie  wa'n't  near;  she 
was  two  jumps  ahead.  And  it  wa'n't  any 
Grand-st.  fashion  plate  that  she  was  a  livin' 
model  of.  It  was  Fifth-ave.  and  upper  Broad- 
way. Talk  about  your  down-to-the-minute  cos- 
tumes! Say,  maybe  they'll  be  wearin'  dresses 
like  that  a  year  from  now.  And  that  hat!  It 
wa'n't  a  dream;  it  was  a  forecast. 

"  We  saw  it  unpacked  from  the  Paris  case,'* 
whispers  Sadie. 


32  ODD  NUMBERS 

All  I  know  about  it  is  that  it  was  the  widest, 
featheriest  lid  I  ever  saw  in  captivity,  and  it's 
balanced  on  more  hair  puffs  than  you  could  put 
in  a  barrel.  But  what  added  the  swell,  artistic 
touch  was  the  collar.  It's  a  chin  supporter 
and  ear  embracer.  I  thought  I'd  seen  high 
ones,  but  this  twelve-inch  picket  fence  around 
Maizie's  neck  was  the  loftiest  choker  I  ever  saw 
anyone  survive.  To  watch  her  wear  it  gave 
you  the  same  sensations  as  bein'  a  witness  at  a 
hanging.  How  she  could  do  it  and  keep  on 
breathin',  I  couldn't  make  out ;  but  it  don't  seem 
to  interfere  with  her  talkin'. 

Sittin'  close  up  beside  her,  and  listeniri'  with 
both  ears  stretched  and  his  mouth  open,  was 
a  blond  young  gent  with  a  bristly  Bat  Nelson 
pompadour.  He's  rigged  out  in  a  silk  faced 
tuxedo,  a  smoke,  colored,  open  face  vest,  and  he 
has  a  big  yellow  orchid  in  his  buttonhole.  By 
the  way  he's  gazin'  at  Maizie,  you  could  tell  he 
approved  of  her  from  the  ground  up.  She  don't 
hesitate  any  on  droppin'  him,  though,  when  we 
arrives. 

"  Hello!  "  says  she.  "  Ripping  good  of  you 
to  come.  Well,  what  do  you  think?  I've  got 
some  of  'em  on,  you  see.  What's  the  effect?  ' 

"  Stunning!  "  says  Sadie. 

"  Thanks,"  says  Maizie.  "  I  laid  out  to  get 
somewhere  near  that.  And,  gosh!  but  it  feels 
good !  These  are  the  kind  of  togs  I  was  born  to 


HOW  MAIZIE  CAME  THROUGH      33 

wear.  Pliemeyf  Oh,  she's  laid  up  with  arnica 
bandages  around  her  throat.  I  told  her  she 
mustn't  try  to  chew  gam  with  one  of  these 
collars  on." 

"  Say,  Maizie,"  says  I,  "  who's  the  Sir  Lionel 
Budweiser,  and  where  did  you  pick  him 
up?  " 

"  Oh,  Oscar?  "  says  she.  "  Why,  he  found 
me.  He's  from  St.  Paul,  nephew  of  Mrs.  Zorn, 
who's  visiting  her.  Brewer's  son,  you  know. 
Money?  They've  got  bales  of  it.  Hey,  Os- 
car! "  says  she,  snappin'  her  finger.  "  Come 
over  here  and  show  yourself !  ' ' 

And  say,  he  was  trained,  all  right.  He  trots 
right  over. 

"  Would  you  take  him,  if  you  was  me?  "  says 
Maizie,  turnin'  him  round  for  us  to  make  an  in- 
spection. "  I  told  him  I  wouldn't  say  positive 
until  I  had  shown  him  to  you,  Mrs.  McCabe. 
He's  a  little  under  height,  and  I  don't  like  the 
way  his  hair  grows ;  but  his  habits  are  good,  and 
his  allowance  is  thirty  thousand  a  year.  How 
about  him?  Will  he  do?  " 

"  Why — why "  says  Sadie,  and  it's  one  of 

the  few  times  I  ever  saw  her  rattled. 

"  Just  flash  that  ring  again,  Oscar,"  says 
Maizie. 

"  0-o-oh!  '  says  Sadie,  when  Oscar  has 
pulled  out  the  white  satin  box  and  snapped  back 
the  cover.  "  What  a  beauty!  Yes,  Maizie,  I 


34  ODD  NUMBERS 

should  say  that,  if  you  like  Oscar,  he  would  do 
nicely. ' ' 

' '  That  goes !  ' '  says  Maizie.  ' t  Here,  Occie 
dear,  slide  it  on.  But  remember:  Phemey  has 
got  to  live  with  us  until  I  can  pick  out  some 
victim  of  nervous  prostration  that  needs  a  wife 
like  her.  And  for  goodness'  sake,  Occie,  give 
that  waiter  an  order  for  something  wet !  ' 

"  Well!  "  says  Sadie  afterwards,  lettin'  out 
a  long  breath.  "  To  think  that  we  ever  wor- 
ried about  her !  ' 

"  She's  a  little  bit  of  all  right,  eh?  "  says  I. 
"  But  say,  I'm  glad  I  ain't  Occie,  the  heir  to 
the  brewery.  I  wouldn't  know  whether  I  was 
engaged  to  Maizie,  or  caught  in  a  belt." 


CHAPTER  IH 

WHERE    SPOTTY    FITTED    IN 

ALSO  we  have  a  few  home-grown  varieties 
that  ain't  listed  frequent.  And  the  pavement 
products  are  apt  to  have  most  as  queer  kinks 
to  'em  as  those  from  the  plowed  fields.  Now 
take  Spotty. 

' '  Gee !  what  a  merry  look !  ' '  says  I  to  Pinck- 
ney  as  he  floats  into  the  studio  here  the  other 
day.  He's  holdin'  his  chin  high,  and  he's  got 
his  stick  tucked  up  under  his  arm,  and  them 
black  eyes  of  his  is  just  sparklin'.  "  What's  it 
all  about?  "  I  goes  on.  "Is  it  a  good  one 
you've  just  remembered,  or  has  something 
humorous  happened  to  one  of  your  best 
friends?  " 

"  I  have  a  new  idea,"  says  he,  "  that's  all." 

"All!"  says  I.  "Why,  that's  excuse 
enough  for  declarin'  a  gen'ral  holiday.  Did 
you  go  after  it,  or  was  it  delivered  by  mis- 
take? Can't  you  give  us  a  scenario  of  it?  " 

"  Why,  I've  thought  of  something  new  for 
Spotty  Cahill,"  says  he,  beamin'. 

' '  G  'wan !  ' '  says  I.  "I  might  have  known  it 
was  a  false  alarm.  Spotty  Cahill!  Say,  do 

35 


36  ODD  NUMBERS 

you  want  to  know  what  I'd  advise  you  to  do  for 
Spotty  next?  " 

No,  Pinckney  don't  want  my  views  on  the 
subject.  It's  a  topic  we've  threshed  out  be- 
tween us  before;  also  it's  one  of  the  few  dozen 
that  we  could  debate  from  now  until  there's 
skatin'  on  the  Panama  Canal,  without  gettin' 
anywhere.  I've  always  held  that  Spotty  Cahill 
was  about  the  most  useless  and  undeservin' 
human  being  that  ever  managed  to  exist  with- 
out work;  but  to  hear  Pinckney  talk  you'd  think 
that  long-legged,  carroty-haired  young  loafer 
was  the  original  party  that  philanthropy  was 
invented  for. 

Now,  doing  things  for  other  folks  ain't  one 
of  Pinckney 's  strong  points,  as  a  rule.  Not 
that  he  wouldn't  if  he  thought  of  it  and  could 
find  the  time;  but  gen 'rally  he  has  too  many 
other  things  on  his  schedule  to  indulge  much 
in  the  little  deeds  of  kindness  game.  When  he 
does  start  out  to  do  good,  though,  he  makes  a 
job  of  it.  But  look  who  he  picks  out ! 

Course,  I  knew  why.  He's  explained  all  that 
to  me  more'n  once.  Seems  there  was  an  old 
waiter  at  the  club,  a  quiet,  soft-spoken,  bald- 
headed  relic,  who  had  served  him  with  more 
lobster  Newburg  than  you  could  load  on  a 
scow,  and  enough  highballs  to  float  the  Maure- 
tania  in.  In  fact,  he'd  been  waitin'  there  as 
long  as  Pinckney  had  been  a  member.  They'd 


WHERE  SPOTTY  FITTED  IN        37 

been  kind  of  chummy,  in  a  way,  too.  It  had  al- 
ways been  "  Good  morning,  Peter,"  and  "  Hope 
I  see  you  well,  sir,"  between  them,  and  Pinck- 
ney  never  had  to  bother  about  whether  he  liked 
a  dash  of  bitters  in  this,  or  if  that  ought  to 
be  served  frappe  or  plain.  Peter  knew,  and 
Peter  never  forgot. 

Then  one  day  when  Pinckney's  just  squarin' 
off  to  his  lunch  he  notices  that  he's  been  given 
plain,  ordinary  salt  butter  instead  of  the  sweet 
kind  he  always  has;  so  he  puts  up  a  finger  to 
call  Peter  over  and  have  a  swap  made.  When 
he  glances  up,  though,  he  finds  Peter  ain't  there 
at  all. 

"Oh,  I  say,"  says  he,  "but  where  is 
Peter?  " 

"  Peter,  sir?  "  says  the  new  man.  "  Very 
sorry,  sir,  but  Peter's  dead." 

"  Dead!  '  says  Pinckney.  "  Why — why — 
how  long  has  that  been?  " 

"  Over  a  month,  sir,"  says  he.  "  Anything 
wrong,  sir?  " 

To  be  sure,  Pinckney  hadn't  been  there  reg'- 
lar;  but  he'd  been  in  off  and  on,  and  when  he 
comes  to  think  how  this  old  chap,  that  knew 
all  his  whims,  and  kept  track  of  'em  so  faithful, 
had  dropped  out  without  his  ever  having  heard 
a  word  about  it — why,  he  felt  kind  of  broke  up. 
You  see,  he'd  always  meant  to  do  something  nice 
for  old  Peter;  but  he'd  never  got  round  to  it, 


38  ODD  NUMBERS 

and  here  the  first  thing  he  knows  Peter's  been 
under  the  sod  for  more  'n  a  month. 

That's  what  set  Pinckney  to  inquirin'  if  Peter 
hadn't  left  a  fam'ly  or  anything,  which  re- 
sults in  his  diggin'  up  this  Spotty  youth.  I 
forgot  just  what  his  first  name  was,  it  being 
something  outlandish  that  don't  go  with  Cahill 
at  all;  but  it  seems  he  was  born  over  in  India, 
where  old  Peter  was  soldierin'  at  the  time,  and 
they'd  picked  up  one  of  the  native  names.  May- 
be that's  what  ailed  the  boy  from  the  start. 

Anyway,  Peter  had  come  back  from  there  a 
widower,  drifted  to  New  York  with  the  young- 
ster, and  got  into  the  waiter  business.  Mean- 
time the  boy  grows  up  in  East  Side  boardin'- 
houses,  without  much  lookin'  after,  and  when 
Pinckney  finds  him  he's  an  int'restin'  product. 
He's  twenty-odd,  about  five  feet  eleven  high, 
weighs  under  one  hundred  and  thirty,  has  a 
shock  of  wavy,  brick-red  hair  that  almost  hides 
his  ears,  and  his  chief  accomplishments  are 
playin'  Kelly  pool  and  consumin'  cigarettes. 
By  way  of  ornament  he  has  the  most  complete 
collection  of  freckles  I  ever  see  on  a  human 
face,  or  else  it  was  they  stood  out  more  prom- 
inent because  the  skin  was  so  white  between  the 
splotches.  We  didn't  invent  the  name  Spotty 
for  him.  He'd  already  been  tagged  that. 

Well,  Pinckney  discovers  that  Spotty  has  been 
livin'  on  the  few  dollars  that  was  left  after 


WHERE  SPOTTY  FITTED  IN        39 

payin'  old  Peter's  plantin'  expenses;  that  he 
didn't  know  what  he  was  go  in'  to  do  after  that 
was  gone,  and  didn't  seem  to  care.  So  Pinck- 
ney  jumps  in,  works  his  pull  with  the  steward, 
and  has  Spotty  put  on  reg'lar  in  the  club  billiard 
room  as  an  attendant.  All  he  has  to  do  is  help 
with  the  cleanin',  keep  the  tables  brushed,  and 
set  up  the  balls  when  there  are  games  goin'  on. 
He  gets  his  meals  free,  and  six  dollars  a  week. 

Now  that  should  have  been  a  soft  enough 
snap  for  anybody,  even  the  born  tired  kind. 
There  wa'n't  work  enough  in  it  to  raise  a  palm 
callous  on  a  baby.  But  Spotty,  he  improves  on 
that.  His  idea  of  earnin'  wages  is  to  curl  up 
in  a  sunny  windowseat  and  commune  with  his 
soul.  Wherever  you  found  the  sun  streamin' 
in,  there  was  a  good  place  to  look  for  Spotty. 
He  just  seemed  to  soak  it  up,  like  a  blotter  does 
ink,  and  it  didn't  disturb  him  any  who  was 
doin '  his  work. 

Durin'  the  first  six  months  Spotty  was  fired 
eight  times,  only  to  have  Pinckney  get  him  re- 
instated, and  it  wa'n't  until  the  steward  went  to 
the  board  of  governors  with  the  row  that  Mr. 
Cahill  was  given  his  permanent  release.  You 
might  think  Pinckney  would  have  called  it  quits 
then;  but  not  him!  He'd  started  out  to  god- 
father Spotty,  and  he  stays  right  with  the 
game.  Everybody  he  knew  was  invited  to  help 
along  the  good  work  of  givin'  Spotty  a  lift.  He 


40  ODD  NUMBEES 

got  Mm  into  brokers'  offices,  tried  him  out  as 
bellhop  in  four  different  hotels,  and  even 
jammed  him  by  main  strength  into  a  bank;  but 
Spotty 's  sun  absorbin'  habits  couldn't  seem  to 
be  made  useful  anywhere. 

For  one  while  he  got  chummy  with  Swifty 
Joe  and  took  to  sunnin'  himself  in  the  studio 
front  windows,  until  I  had  to  veto  that. 

"  I  don't  mind  your  friends  droppin'  in  now 
and  then,  Swifty,"  says  I;  "  but  there  ain't 
any  room  here  for  statuary.  I  don't  care  how 
gentle  you  break  it  to  him,  only  run  him  out. ' ' 

So  that's  why  I  don't  enthuse  much  when 
Pinckney  says  he's  thought  up  some  new 
scheme  for  Spotty.  "  Goin'  to  have  him 
probed  for  hookworms!  "  says  I. 

No,  that  ain't  it.  Pinckney,  he's  had  a  talk 
with  Spotty  and  discovered  that  old  Peter  had 
a  brother  Aloysius,  who's  settled  somewhere 
up  in  Canada  and  is  superintendent  of  a  big 
wheat  farm.  Pinckney 's  had  his  lawyers  trace 
out  this  Uncle  Aloysius,  and  then  he's  written 
him  all  about  Spotty,  suggestin'  that  he  send  for 
him  by  return  mail. 

"  Fine!  "  says  I.  "  He'd  be  a  lot  of  use  on 
a  wheat  farm.  What  does  Aloysius  have  to 
say  to  the  proposition1?  ' 

"  Well,  the  fact  is,"  says  Pinckney,  "  he 
doesn't  appear  at  all  enthusiastic.  He  writes 
that  if  the  boy  is  anything  like  Peter  when  he 


knew  him  he's  not  anxious  to  see  him.  How- 
ever, he  says  that  if  Spotty  comes  on  he  will 
do  what  he  can  for  him. ' ' 

"  It'll  be  a  long  walk,"  says  I. 

"  There's  where  my  idea  comes  in,"  says 
Pinckney.  "  I  am  going  to  finance  the  trip." 

"  If  it  don't  cost  too  much,"  says  I,  "  it'll  be 
a  good  investment. ' ' 

Pinckney  wants  to  do  the  thing  right  away, 
too.  First  off,  though,  he  has  to  locate  Spotty. 
The  youth  has  been  at  large  for  a  week  or  more 
now,  since  he  was  last  handed  the  fresh  air, 
and  Pinckney  ain't  heard  a  word  from  him. 

"  Maybe  Swifty  knows  where  he  roosts," 
says  I. 

It  was  a  good  guess.  Swifty  gives  us  a  num- 
ber on  Fourth-ave.  where  he'd  seen  Spotty 
hangin'  around  lately,  and  he  thinks  likely  he's 
there  yet. 

So  me  and  Pinckney  starts  out  on  the  trail. 
It  leads  us  to  one  of  them  Turkish  auction 
joints  where  they  sell  genuine  silk  oriental 
prayer  rugs,  made  in  Paterson,  N.  J.,  with  ham- 
mered brass  bowls  and  antique  guns  as  a  side 
line.  And,  sure  enough,  camped  down  in  front 
on  a  sample  rug,  with  his  hat  off  and  the  sun 
full  on  him,  is  our  friend  Spotty. 

' '  Well,  well !  ' '  says  Pinckney.  '  *  Regularly 
employed  here,  are  you,  Spotty?  " 

"Me?    Nah!"    says    Spotty,    lookin'    dis- 


42  ODD  NUMBERS 

gusted  at  the  thought.  "I'm  only  stayin' 
around." 

"  Ain't  you  afraid  the  sun  will  fade  them 
curly  locks  of  yours  ?  ' '  says  I. 

"  Ah,  quit  your  kiddin'!  ':  says  Spotty, 
startin'  to  roll  a  fresh  cigarette. 

"  Don't  mind  Shorty,"  says  Pinckney.  "  I 
have  some  good  news  for  you. ' ' 

That  don't  excite  Spotty  a  bit.  "  Not  another 
job !  "  he  groans. 

"  No,  no,"  says  Pinckney,  and  then  he  ex- 
plains about  finding  Uncle  Aloysius,  windin'  up 
by  askin'  Spotty  how  he'd  like  to  go  up  there 
and  live. 

"  I  don't  know,"  says  Spotty.  "  Good  ways 
off,  ain't  it?  " 

"  It  is,  rather,"  admits  Pinckney;  "  but  that 
need  not  trouble  you.  What  do  you  think  I 
am  going  to  do  for  you,  Spotty?  ' 

11  Give  it  up,"  says  he,  calmly  lightin'  a  match 
and  proceedin'  with  the  smoke. 

"  Well,"  says  Pinckney,  "  because  of  the 
long  and  faithful  service  of  your  father,  and  the 
many  little  personal  attentions  he  paid  me,  I 
am  going  to  give  you—  Wait!  Here  it  is 
now,"  and  hanged  if  Pinckney  don't  fork  over 
ten  new  twenty-dollar  bills.  "  There!  "  says 
he.  "  That  ought  to  be  enough  to  fit  you  out 
well  and  take  you  there  in  good  shape.  Here's 
the  address  too." 


WHERE  SPOTTY  FITTED  IN        43 

Does  Spotty  jump  up  and  crack  his  heels  to- 
gether and  sputter  out  how  thankful  he  is? 
Nothin'  so  strenuous.  He  fumbles  the  bills 
over  curious  for  a  minute,  then  wads  'em  up 
and  jams  'em  into  his  pocket.  "  Much 
obliged,"  says  he. 

"  Come  around  to  Shorty's  with  your  new 
clothes  on  to-morrow  afternoon  about  four 
o'clock,"  says  Pinckney,  "  and  let  us  see  how 
you  look.  And — er — by  the  way,  Spotty,  is 
that  a  friend  of  yours?  ' 

I'd  been  noticin'  her  too,  standin'  just  inside 
the  doorway  pipin'  us  off.  She's  a  slim,  big- 
eyed,  black-haired  young  woman,  dressed  in  the 
height  of  Grand-st.  fashion,  and  wearin'  a  lot 
of  odd,  cheap  lookin'  jewelry.  If  it  hadn't  been 
for  the  straight  nose  and  the  thin  lips  you  might 
have  guessed  that  her  first  name  was  Eebecca. 

"  Oh,  her?  "  says  Spotty,  turnin'  languid  to 
see  who  he  meant.  "  That's  Mareena.  Her 
father  runs  the  shop." 

"  Armenian?  "  says  I. 

"  No,  Syrian,"  says  he. 

"  Quite  some  of  a  looker,  eh?  "  says  I,  tryin' 
to  sound  him. 

"  Not  so  bad,"  says  Spotty,  hunchin'  his 
shoulders. 

"  But — er — do  I  understand,"  says  Pinck- 
ney, "  that  there  is — ah — some  attachment  be- 
tween you  and — er — the  young  lady?  " 


44  ODD  NUMBERS 

" Blamed  if  I  know,"  says  Spotty.  "  Better 
ask  her." 

Course,  we  couldn't  very  well  do  that,  and  as 
Spotty  don't  seem  bubblin'  over  with  informa- 
tion he  has  to  chop  it  off  there.  Pinckney, 
though,  is  more  or  less  int 'rested  in  the  situa- 
tion. He  wonders  if  he's  done  just  right, 
handin'  over  all  that  money  to  Spotty  in  a 
place  like  that. 

"  It  wa'n't  what  you'd  call  a  shrewd  move," 
says  I.  "  Seems  to  me  I'd  bought  his  ticket, 
anyway. ' ' 

11  Yes;  but  I  wanted  to  get  it  off  my  mind, 
you  know,"  says  he.  "  Odd,  though,  his  being 
there.  I  wonder  what  sort  of  persons  those 
Syrians  are?  ' 

' '  You  never  can  tell, ' '  says  I. 

The  more  Pinckney  thinks  of  it,  the  more  un- 
easy he  gets,  and  when  four  o'clock  comes  next 
day,  with  no  Spotty  showin'  up,  he  begins  to 
have  furrows  in  his  brow.  "  If  he's  been  done 
away  with,  it's  my  fault,"  says  Pinckney. 

"  Ah,  don't  start  worryin'  yet,"  says  I. 
"  Give  him  time." 

By  five  o'clock,  though,  Pinckney  has 
imagined  all  sorts  of  things, — Spotty  bein' 
found  carved  up  and  sewed  in  a  sack,  and  him 
called  into  court  to  testify  as  to  where  he  saw 
him  last.  "  And  all  because  I  gave  him  that 
money!  "  he  groans. 


WHEKE  SPOTTY  FITTED  IN        45 

"  Say,  can  it!  "  says  I.  "  Them  sensation 
pictures  of  yours  are  makin'  me  nervous.  Here, 
I'll  go  down  and  see  if  they've  finished  wipin' 
off  the  daggers,  while  you  send  Swifty  out  after 
something  soothin'." 

With  that  off  I  hikes  as  a  rescue  expedition. 
I  finds  the  red  flag  still  out,  the  sample  rug 
still  in  place;  but  there's  no  Spotty  in  evidence. 
Neither  is  there  any  sign  of  the  girl.  So  I 
walks  into  the  store,  gazin'  around  sharp  for 
any  stains  on  the  floor. 

Out  from  behind  a  curtain  at  the  far  end  of 
the  shop  comes  a  fat,  wicked  lookin'  old  pirate, 
with  a  dark  greasy  face  and  shiny  little  eyes 
like  a  pair  of  needles.  He's  wearin'  a  dinky 
gold-braided  cap,  baggy  trousers,  and  he  car- 
ries a  long  pipe  in  one  hand.  If  he  didn't  look 
like  he'd  do  extemporaneous  surgery  for  the 
sake  of  a  dollar  bill,  then  I'm  no  judge.  I've 
got  in  too  far  to  look  up  a  cop,  so  I  takes  a 
chance  on  a  strong  bluff. 

"  Say,  you!  "  I  sings  out.  "  What's  hap- 
pened to  Spotty?  " 

"  Spot-tee?  "  says  he.  "  Spot-tee?  "  He 
shrugs  his  shoulders  and  pretends  to  look 
dazed. 

"  Yes,  Spotty,"  says  I,  "  red-headed,  freckle- 
faced  young  gent.  You  know  him. ' ' 

"  Ah!  "  says  he,  tappin'  his  head.  "  The 
golden  crowned!  El  Sareef  Ka-heel?  " 


46  ODD  NUMBERS 

"  That's  the  name,  Cahill,"  says  I.  "He's 
a  friend  of  a  friend  of  mine,  and  you  might  as 
well  get  it  through  your  nut  right  now  that  if 
any  thing's  happened  to  him " 

"  You  are  a  friend  of  Sareef  Ka-heel?  "  he 
breaks  in,  eyin'  me  suspicious. 

*  *  Once  removed, ' '  says  I ; ' l  but  it  amounts  to 
the  same  thing.     Now  where  is  he?  ' 

11  For  a  friend — well,  I  know  not,"  says  the 
old  boy,  kind  of  hesitatin'.  Then,  with  another 
shrug,  he  makes  up  his  mind.  "  So  it  shall  be. 
Come.  You  shall  see  the  Sareef." 

At  that  he  beckons  me  to  follow  and  starts 
towards  the  back.  I  went  through  one  dark 
room,  expectin '  to  feel  a  knife  in  my  ribs  every 
minute,  and  then  we  goes  through  another.  Next 
thing  I  knew  we're  out  in  a  little  back  yard,  half 
full  of  empty  cases  and  crates.  In  the  middle 
of  a  clear  space  is  a  big  brown  tent,  with  the 
flap  pinned  back. 

*  *  Here, ' '  says  the  old  gent, ' '  your  friend,  the 
Sareef  Ka-heel!  " 

Say,  for  a  minute  I  thought  it  was  a  trap  he's 
springin'  on  me;  but  after  I'd  looked  long 
enough  I  see  who  he's  pointin'  at.  The  party 
inside  is  squattin'  cross-legged  on  a  rug,  holdin' 
the  business  end  of  one  of  these  water  bottle 
pipes  in  his  mouth.  He's  wearin'  some  kind  of 
a  long  bath  robe,  and  most  of  his  red  hair  is 
concealed  by  yards  of  white  cloth  twisted  round 


WHERE  SPOTTY  FITTED  IN        47 

his  head;  but  it's  Spotty  all  right,  alive,  un- 
carved,  and  lookin'  happy  and  contented. 

11  Well,  for  the  love  of  soup!  ':  says  I. 
"  What  is  it,  a  masquerade?  " 

"  That  you,  'McCabe!  "  says  he.  "  Come  in 
and — and  sit  on  the  floor." 

"  Say,"  says  I,  steppin'  inside,  "  this  ain't 
the  costume  you're  going  to  start  for  Canada 
in,  is  it?  " 

"  Ah,  forget  Canada!  "  says  he.  "  I've  got 
that  proposition  beat  a  mile.  Hey,  Hazzam," 
and  he  calls  to  the  old  pirate  outside,  "  tell 
Mrs.  Cahill  to  come  down  and  be  introduced!  ' 

"  What's  that?  "  says  I.  "  You— you  ain't 
been  gettin'  married,  have  you?  " 

li  Yep,"  says  Spotty,  grinnin'  foolish.  "  Nine 
o'clock  last  night.  We're  goin'  to  start  on  our 
weddin'  trip  Tuesday,  me  and  Mareena." 

'  *  Mareena !  "  I  gasps.  '  *  Not  the — the  one 
we  saw  out  front?  Where  you  going,  Ni- 
agara? " 

"  Nah!  Syria,  wherever  that  is,"  says  he. 
"  Mareena  knows.  We're  goin'  to  live  over 
there  and  buy  rugs.  That  two  hundred  was 
just  what  we  needed  to  set  us  up  in  business." 

"  Think  you'll  like  it?  "  says  I. 

"  Sure!  ':  says  he.  "  She  says  it's  fine. 
There's  deserts  over  there,  and  you  travel  for 
days  and  days,  ridin'  on  bloomin'  camels. 
Here's  the  tent  we're  goin'  to  live  in.  I'm 


48  ODD  NUMBEKS 

practisin'  up.  Gree!  but  this  pipe  is  sometMn' 
fierce,  though!  Oh,  here  she  is!  Say,  Ma- 
reena,  this  is  Mr.  McCabe,  that  I  was  tellin' 
you  about." 

Well,  honest,  I  wouldn't  have  known  her  for 
the  same  girl.  She's  changed  that  Grand-st. 
uniform  for  a  native  outfit,  and  while  it's  a 
little  gaudy  in  color,  hanged  if  it  ain't  becomin' ! 
For  a  desert  bride  I  should  say  she  had  some 
class. 

"  Well,"  says  I,  "  so  you  and  Spotty  are 
goin'  to  leave  us,  eh?  ' 

* '  Ah,  yes !  ' '  says  she,  them  big  black  eyes 
of  hers  lightin'  up.  "  We  go  where  the  sky  is 
high  and  blue  and  the  sun  is  big  and  hot.  We 
go  back  to  the  wide  white  desert  where  I  was 
born.  All  day  we  shall  ride  toward  the  purple 
hills,  and  sleep  at  night  under  the  still  stars. 
He  knows.  I  have  told  him." 

"  That's  right,"  says  Spotty.  "  It'll  be  all 
to  the  good,  that.  Mareena  can  cook  too." 

To  prove  it,  she  makes  coffee  and  hands  it 
around  in  little  brass  cups.  Also  there's  cakes, 
and  the  old  man  comes  in,  smilin'  and  rubbin' 
his  hands,  and  we  has  a  real  sociable  time. 

And  these  was  the  folks  I'd  suspected  of 
wantin '  to  carve  up  Spotty !  Why,  by  the  looks 
I  saw  thrown  at  him  by  them  two,  I  knew 
they  thought  him  the  finest  thing  that  ever  hap- 
pened. Just  by  the  way  Mareena  reached  out 


WHERE  SPOTTY  FITTED  IN        49 

sly  to  pat  his  hair  when  she  passed,  you  could 
see  how  it  was. 

So  I  wished  'em  luck  and  hurried  back  to  re- 
port before  Pinckney  sent  a  squad  of  reserves 
after  me. 

"  Well?  "  says  he,  the  minute  I  gets  in.  "  Let 
me  know  the  worst  at  once." 

"  I  will,"  says  I.  "  He's  married."  It  was 
all  I  could  do,  too,  to  make  him  believe  the 
yarn. 

"  By  Jove!  "  says  he.  "  Think  of  a  chap 
like  Spotty  Cahill  tumbling  into  a  romance  like 
that !  And  on  Fourth-ave !  ' : 

"  It  ain't  so  well  advertised  as  some  other 
lanes  in  this  town,"  says  I;  "  but  it's  a  great 
street.  Say,  what  puzzled  me  most  about  the 
whole  business,  though,  was  the  new  name  they 
had  for  Spotty.  Sareef !  What  in  blazes  does 
that  mean?  " 

"  Probably  a  title  of  some  sort,"  says  Pinck- 
ney. "  Like  sheik,  I  suppose." 

"  But  what  does   a   Sareef  have   to   do?  ' 
says  I. 

"Do?"  says  Pinckney.  "  Why,  he's  boss 
of  the  caravan.  He — he  sits  around  in  the  sun 
and  looks  picturesque." 

"  Then  that  settles  it,"  says  I.  "  Spotty 's 
qualified.  I  never  thought  there  was  any  place 
where  he'd  fit  in;  but,  if  your  description's  cor- 
rect, he's  found  the  job  he  was  born  for." 


CHAPTER  IV 

A  GRANDMOTHER  WHO  GOT  GOING 

EVER  go  on  a  grandmother  hunt  through  the 
Bed  Ink  District?  Well,  it  ain't  a  reg'lar 
amusement  of  mine,  but  it  has  its  good  points. 
Maybe  I  wouldn't  have  tackled  it  at  all  if  I 
hadn't  begun  by  lettin'  myself  get  int 'rested  in 
Vincent's  domestic  affairs. 

Now  what  I  knew  about  this  Vincent  chap 
before  we  starts  out  on  the  grandmother  trail 
wouldn't  take  long  to  tell.  He  wa'n't  any  spe- 
cial friend  of  mine.  For  one  thing,  he  wears  his 
hair  cut  plush."  Course,  it's  his  hair,  and  if  he 
wants  to  train  it  to  stand  up  on  top  like  a 
clothes  brush  or  a  blacking  dauber,  who  am  I 
that  should  curl  the  lip  of  scorn! 

Just  the  same,  I  never  could  feel  real  chummy 
towards  anyone  that  sported  one  of  them  self 
raisin'  crests.  Vincent  wa'n't  one  of  the 
chummy  kind,  though.  He's  one  of  these  stiff 
backed,  black  haired,  brown  eyed,  quick  mo- 
tioned, sharp  spoken  ducks,  that  wants  what  he 
wants  when  he  wants  it.  You  know.  He  comes 
to  the  studio  reg'lar,  does  his  forty-five  minutes' 

50 


GRANDMOTHER  GETS  GOING       51 

work,  and  gets  out  without  swappin'  any  more 
conversation  than  is  strictly  necessary. 

All  the  information  I  had  picked  up  about 
him  was  that  he  hailed  from  up  the  State  some- 
where, and  that  soon  after  he  struck  New  York 
he  married  one  of  the  Chetwood  girls.  And 
that  takes  more  or  less  capital  to  start  with. 
Guess  Vincent  had  it;  for  I  hear  his  old  man 
left  him  quite  a  wad  and  that  now  he's  the 
main  guy  of  a  threshin'  machine  trust,  or  some- 
thing like  that.  Anyway,  Vincent  belongs  in 
the  four-cylinder  plute  class,  and  he's  beginnin' 
to  be  heard  of  among  the  alimony  aristocracy. 

But  this  ain't  got  anything  to  do  with  the 
way  he  happened  to  get  confidential  all  so  sud- 
den. He'd  been  havin'  a  kid  pillow  mix-up 
with  Swifty  Joe,  just  as  lively  as  if  the  ther- 
mometer was  down  to  thirty  instead  of  up  to 
ninety,  and  he's  just  had  his  rub  down  and  got 
into  his  featherweight  serge,  when  in  drifts  this 
Rodney  Kipp  that's  figurin'  so  strong  on  the 
defense  side  of  them  pipe  line  cases. 

* '  Ah,  Vincent !  ' '  says  he. 

"  Hello,  Rodney!  "  says  Vincent  as  they 
passes  each  other  in  the  front  office,  one  goin' 
out  and  the  other  comin'  in. 

I'd  never  happened  to  see  'em  meet  before, 
and  I'm  some  surprised  that  they're  so  well  ac- 
quainted. Don't  know  why,  either,  unless  it  is 
that  they're  so  different.  Rodney,  you  know, 


52  ODD  NUMBEES 

is  one  of  these  light  complected  heavyweights, 
and  a  swell  because  he  was  born  so.  I  was  won- 
derin'  if  Rodney  was  one  of  Vincent's  lawyers, 
or  if  they  just  belonged  to  the  same  clubs; 
when  Mr.  Kipp  swings  on  his  heel  and  says : 

'  *  Oh,  by  the  way,  Vincent,  how  is  grammy  ?  ' 

"  Why!  "  says  Vincent,  "  isn't  she  out  with 
you  and  Nellie!  " 

"  No,"  says  Rodney,  "  she  stayed  with  us 
only  for  a  couple  of  days.  Nellie  said  she 
hadn't  heard  from  her  for  nearly  two  months, 
and  told  me  to  ask  you  about  her.  So  long. 
I'm  due  for  some  medicine  ball  work,"  and 
with  that  he  drifts  into  the  gym.  and  shuts  the 
door. 

Vincent,  he  stands  lookin'  after  him  with  a 
kind  of  worried  look  on  his  face  that  was 
comical  to  see  on  such  a  cocksure  chap  as 
him. 

"  Lost  somebody,  have  you!  "  says  I. 

"Why — er — I  don't  know,"  says  Vincent, 
runnin'  his  fingers  through  the  bristles  that 
waves  above  his  noble  brow.  "  It's  grand' 
mother.  I  can't  imagine  where  she  can  be." 

"  You  must  have  grandmothers  to  burn," 
says  I,  "  if  they  're  so  plenty  with  you  that  you 
can  mislay  one  now  and  then  without  missin' 
her." 

"  Eh!  "  says  he.  "  No,  no!  She  is  really 
my  mother,  you  know.  I've  got  into  the  way 


GRANDMOTHER  GETS  GOING       53 

of  calling  her  grammy  only  during  the  last 
three  or  four  years." 

"  Oh,  I  see!  "  says  I.  "  The  grandmother 
habit  is  something  she's  contracted  compara- 
tive recent,  eh?  Ain't  gone  to  her  head,  has 
it?" 

Vincent  couldn't  say;  but  by  the  time  he's 
quit  tryin'  to  explain  what  has  happened  I've 
got  the  whole  story.  First  off  he  points  out 
that  Rodney  Kipp,  havin'  married  his  sister 
Nellie,  is  his  brother-in-law,  and,  as  they  both 
have  a  couple  of  youngsters,  it  makes  Vincent's 
mother  a  grammy  in  both  families. 

"  Sure,"  says  I.  "I  know  how  that  works 
cut.  She  stays  part  of  the  time  with  you,  and 
makes  herself  mighty  popular  with  your  kids; 
then  she  takes  her  trunk  over  to  Rodney's  and 
goes  through  the  same  performance  there.  And 
when  she  goes  visitin'  other  places  there's  a 
great  howl  all  round.  That's  it,  ain't  it?  ' 

It  wa'n't,  not  within  a  mile,  and  I'd  showed 
up  my  low,  common  breedin'  by  suggesting  such 
a  thing.  As  gently  as  he  could  without  hurtin' 
my  feelin's  too  much,  Vincent  explains  that 
while  my  programme  might  be  strictly  camel's 
foot  for  ordinary  people,  the  domestic  arrange- 
ments of  the  upper  clawsses  was  run  on  differ- 
ent lines.  For  instance,  his  little  Algernon 
Chetwood  could  speak  nothing  but  French,  that 
bein'  the  brand  of  governess  he'd  always  had, 


54  ODD  NUMBERS 

and  so  he  naturally  couldn't  be  very  thick  with 
a  grandmother  that  didn't  understand  a  word 
of  his  lingo. 

"  Besides,"  says  Vincent,  "  mother  and  my 
wife,  I  regret  to  say,  have  never  found  each 
other  very  congenial." 

I  might  have  guessed  it  if  I'd  stopped  to 
think  of  how  an  old  lady  from  the  country  would 
hitch  with  one  of  them  high  flyin'  Chetwood 
girls, 

"  Then  she  hangs  out  with  your  sister,  eh, 
and  does  her  grandmother  act  there?  "  says  I. 

' s  Well,  hardly,"  says  Vincent,  colorin'  up  a 
little.  ' '  You  see,  Rodney  has  never  been  very 
intimate  with  the  rest  of  our  family.  He's  a 

Kipp,  and- Well,  you  can't  blame  him;  for 

mother  ia  rather  old-fashioned.  Of  course, 
she 's  good  and  kind-hearted  and  all  that ;  but — • 
but  there  isn't  much  style  about  her." 

"  Still  sticks  to  the  polonaise  of  '81,  and 
wears  a  straw  lid  she  bought  durin'  the  Centen- 
nial, eh?  "  says  I. 

Vincent  says  that  about  tells  the  story. 

"  And  where  is  it  she's  been  livin'  all  this 
time  that  you've  been  gettin'  on  so  well  in  New 
York?  "  says  I. 

"  In  our  old  home,  Tonawanda,"  says  he, 
^hudderin'  some  as  he  lets  go  of  the  name. 
"  It's  where  she  should  have  stayed,  too!  ' 

"  So-o-o-o?  "  says  I.    I'd  been  listenin'  just 


GEANDMOTHEE  GETS  GOING       55 

out  of  politeness  up  to  that  point ;  but  from  then 
on  I  got  int 'rested,  and  I  don't  let  up  until  I've 
pumped  out  of  him  all  the  details  about  just  how 
much  of  a  nuisance  an  old,  back  number  mother 
could  be  to  a  couple  of  ambitious  young  folks 
that  had  grown  up  and  married  into  the  swell 
mob. 

It  was  a  case  that  ought  to  be  held  up  as  a 
warnin'  to  lots  of  superfluous  old  mothers  that 
ain't  got  any  better  taste  than  to  keep  on  livin' 
long  after  there's  any  use  for  'em.  Mother 
Vincent  hadn't  made  much  trouble  at  first,  for 
she'd  had  an  old  maid  sister  to  take  care  of; 
but  when  a  bad  case  of  the  grip  got  Aunt 
Sophrony  durin'  the  previous  winter,  mother 
was  left  sort  of  floatin'  around. 

She  tried  visitin'  back  and  forth  between  Vin- 
cent and  Nellie  just  one  consecutive  trip,  and 
the  experiment  was  such  a  frost  that  it  caused 
ructions  in  both  families.  In  her  Tonawanda 
regalia  mother  wa'n't  an  exhibit  that  any  Eng- 
lish butler  could  be  expected  to  pass  the  soup 
to  and  still  keep  a  straight  face. 

So  Vincent  thinks  it's  time  to  anchor  her  per- 
manent somewhere.  Accordin'  to  his  notion,  he 
did  the  handsome  thing  too.  He  buys  her  a 
nice  little  farm  about  a  mile  outside  of  Tona- 
wanda, a  place  with  a  fine  view  of  the  railroad 
tracks  on  the  west  and  a  row  of  brick  yards  to 
the  east,  and  he  lands  mother  there  with  a 


56  ODD  NUMBERS 

toothless  old  German  housekeeper  for  company. 
He  tells  her  he's  settled  a  good  comfortable  in- 
come on  her  for  life,  and  leaves  her  to  enjoy 
herself. 

But  look  at  the  ingratitude  a  parent  can  work 
up!  She  ain't  been  there  more'n  a  couple  of 
months  before  she  begins  complainin'  about 
bein'  lonesome.  She  don't  see  much  of  the 
Tonawanda  folks  now,  the  housekeeper  ain't 
very  sociable,  the  smoke  from  the  brick  yards 
yellows  her  Monday  wash,  and  the  people  she 
sees  goin'  by  in  the  cars  is  all  strangers. 
Couldn't  Vincent  swap  the  farm  for  one  near 
New  York?  She  liked  the  looks  of  the  place 
when  she  was  there,  and  wouldn't  mind  being 
closer. 

"  Of  course,"  says  he,  "  that  was  out  of  the 
question!  " 

"  Oh,  sure!  "  says  I.  "  How  absurd!  But 
what's  the  contents  of  this  late  bulletin  about 
her  being  a  stray?  ' 

It  was  nothing  more  or  less  than  that  the 
old  girl  had  sold  up  the  farm  a  couple  of  months 
back,  fired  the  housekeeper,  and  quietly  skipped 
for  New  York.  Vincent  had  looked  for  her  to 
show  up  at  his  house,  and  when  she  didn't  he 
figured  she  must  have  gone  to  Nellie's.  It  was 
only  when  Rodney  Kipp  fires  the  grammy  ques- 
tion at  him  that  he  sees  he's  made  a  wrong 
calculation  and  begins  havin'  cold  feet. 


GBANDMOTHER  GETS  GOING       57 

"  If  she's  here,  alone  in  New  York,  there's 
no  knowing  what  may  be  happening  to  her," 
says  he.  "  Why,  she  knows  nothing  about  the 
city,  nothing  at  all!  She  might  get  run  over, 
or  fall  in  with  disreputable  people,  or— 
The  other  pictures  was  so  horrible  he  passes 
'em  up. 

"  Mothers  must  be  a  great  care,"  says  I.  "  I 
ain't  had  one  for  so  long  I  can't  say  on  my  own 
hook;  but  I  judge  that  you  and  sister  has  had 
a  hard  time  of  it  with  yours.  Excuse  me, 
though,  if  I  don't  shed  any  tears  of  sympathy, 
Vincent. ' ' 

He  looks  at  me  kind  of  sharp  at  that;  but 
he's  too  busy  with  disturbin*  thoughts  to  ask 
what  I  mean.  Maybe  he'd  found  out  if  he  had. 
It's  just  as  well  he  didn't;  for  I  was  some  curi- 
ous to  see  what  would  be  his  next  move.  From 
his  talk  it's  plain  Vincent  is  most  worried 
about  the  chances  of  the  old  lady's  doin'  some- 
thing that  would  get  her  name  into  the  papers, 
and  he  says  right  off  that  he  won't  rest  easy 
until  he's  found  her  and  shooed  her  back  to  the 
fields. 

"  But  where  am  I  to  look  first?  "  says  he. 
"  How  am  I  to  begin!  " 

"  It's  a  big  town  to  haul  a  dragnet  through, 
that's  a  fact,"  says  I.  "  Why  don't  you  call  in 
Brother  in  Law  Rodney,  for  a  starter  f  ' ' 

"  No,  no,"  says  Vincent,  glancin'  uneasy  at 


58  ODD  NUMBEES 

the  gym.  door.  "  I  don't  care  to  have  him 
know  anything  about  it." 

"  Maybe  sister  might  have  some  informa- 
tion," says  I.  "  There's  the  'phone." 

11  Thanks,"  says  he.  "  If  you  don't  mind,  I 
will  call  her  up  at  the  Kipp  country  place." 

He  does;  but  Nellie  ain't  heard  a  word  from 
mother;  thought  she  must  be  with  Vincent  all 
this  time;  and  has  been  too  busy  givin'  house 
parties  to  find  out. 

11  Have  her  cross  examine  the  maids,"  says  I. 
' '  The  old  lady  may  have  left  some  orders  about 
forwardin'  her  mail." 

That  was  the  clew.  Inside  of  ten  minutes 
Nellie  'phones  back  and  gives  a  number  on  West 
21st-st. 

"  Gee!  "  says  L  "A  hamfatters'  boardin'- 
house,  I'll  bet  a  bag  of  beans!  Grandmother 
has  sure  picked  out  a  lively  lodgin '-place." 

*  *  Horrible !  ' '  says  Vincent.  ' '  I  must  get  her 
away  from  there  at  once.  But  I  wish  there  was 

someone  who •  Shorty,  could  I  get  you  to 

go  along  with  me  and " 

"  Eescuin'  grandmothers  ain't  my  long  suit," 
says  I;  "  but  I'll  admit  I'm  some  int 'rested  in 
this  case.  Come  on." 

By  the  time  our  clockwork  cab  fetches  up  in 
front  of  the  prunery  it's  after  six  o'clock. 
There's  no  mistakin'  the  sort  of  histrionic  asy- 
lum it  was,  either.  A  hungry  lookin'  bunch  of 


GRANDMOTHER  GETS  GOING        59 

actorets  was  lined  up  on  the  front  steps,  every- 
one of  'em  with  an  ear  stretched  out  for  the 
dinner  bell.  In  the  window  of  the  first  floor 
front  was  a  beauty  doctor's  sign,  a  bull  fiddle- 
artist  was  sawin'  out  his  soul  distress  in  the 
hall  bedroom  above,  and  up  under  the  cornice 
the  Chicini  sisters  was  leanin'  on  the  ledge  and 
wishin'  the  folks  back  in  Saginaw  would  send  on 
that  grubstake  letter  before  the  landlady  got 
any  worse.  But  maybe  you've  seen  samples 
of  real  dogday  tragedy  among  the  prof  esh,  when 
the  summer  snaps  have  busted  and  the  fall  re- 
hearsals have  just  begun.  What,  Mabel? 

11  It's  a  sure  enough  double-in-brass  roost," 
says  I.  "  Don't  say  anything  that  sounds  like 
contract,  or  you'll  be  mobbed." 

But  they  sizes  Vincent  up  for  a  real  estate 
broker,  and  gives  him  the  chilly  stare,  until  he 
mentions  the  old  lady 's  name.  Then  they  thaws 
out  sudden. 

"Oh,  the  Duchess!"  squeals  a  couple  in 
chorus.  "  Why,  she  always  dines  out,  you 
know.  You'll  find  her  around  at  Doughretti's, 
on27th-st." 

"  Duchess!  "  says  Vincent.  "  I — I'm  afraid 
there's  some  mistake." 

"  Not  at  all,"  says  one  of  the  crowd.  "  We 
all  call  her  that.  She 's  got  Little  Spring  Water 
with  her  to-night.  Doughretti's,  just  in  from 
the  avenue,  is  the  place. ' ' 


60  ODD  NUMBERS 

And  Vincent  is  the  worst  puzzled  gent  you 
ever  saw  as  he  climbs  back  into  the  cab. 

"  It  can't  be  mother  they  mean,"  says  he. 
"  No  one  would  ever  think  of  calling  her 
Duchess." 

11  There's  no  accountin'  for  what  them  actor- 
ines  would  do,"  says  I.  "  Anyway,  all  you  got 
to  do  is  take  a  peek  at  the  party,  and  if  it's 
a  wrong  steer  we  can  go  back  and  take  a  fresh 
start." 

You  know  Doughretti's.  If  you  don't  you 
know  a  dozen  just  like  it.  It's  one  of  these 
sixty-cent  table  dotty  joints,  with  an  electric 
name  sign,  a  striped  stoop  awnin ',  and  a  seven- 
course  menu  manifolded  in  pale  purple  ink.  You 
begin  the  agony  with  an  imitation  soup  that 
looks  like  Eockaway  beach  water  when  the 
tide's  comin'  in,  and  you  end  with  a  choice  of 
petrified  cheese  rinds  that  might  pass  for  sou- 
venirs from  the  Palisades. 

If  you  don't  want  to  taste  what  you  eat,  you 
let  'em  hand  you  a  free  bottle  of  pure  Cali- 
fornia claret,  vatted  on  East  Houston-st.  It's 
a  mixture  of  filtered  Croton,  extra  quality  ani- 
line dyes,  and  two  kinds  of  wood  alcohol,  and 
after  you've  had  a  pint  of  it  you  don't  care 
whether  the  milk  fed  Philadelphia  chicken  was 
put  in  cold  storage  last  winter,  or  back  in  the 
year  of  the  big  wind. 

Madam  Doughretti  had  just  fed  the  Punk 


GEANDMOTHEE  GETS  GOING       61 

Lady  waltz  into  the.  pianola  for  the  fourth  time 
as  we  pulls  up  at  the  curb. 

"  It's  no  use,"  says  Vincent.  "  She  wouldn't 
be  here.  I  will  wait,  though,  while  you  take  a 
look  around ;  if  you  will,  Shorty. ' ' 

On  the  way  over  he's  given  me  a  description 
of  his  missin'  parent;  so  I  pikes  up  the  steps, 
pushes  past  the  garlic  smells,  and  proceeds  to 
inspect  the  groups  around  the  little  tables. 
What  I'm  lookin'  for  is  a  squatty  old  party  with 
gray  hair  pasted  down  over  her  ears,  and  a 
waist  like  a  bag  of  hay  tied  in  the  middle.  She's 
supposed  to  be  wearin'  a  string  bonnet  about 
the  size  of  a  saucer,  with  a  bunch  of  faded  vel- 
vet violets  on  top,  a  coral  brooch  at  her  neck, 
and  either  a  black  alpaca  or  a  lavender  sprigged 
grenadine.  Most  likely,  too,  she'll  be  doin'  the 
shovel  act  with  her  knife. 

Well,  there  was  a  good  many  kinds  of  females 
scattered  around  the  coffee  stained  tablecloths, 
but  none  that  answers  to  these  specifications. 
I  was  just  gettin'  ready  to  call  off  the  search, 
when  I  gets  my  eye  on  a  couple  over  in  one 
corner.  The  gent  was  one  of  these  studio  In- 
dians, with  his  hair  tucked  inside  his  collar. 

The  old  girl  facin'  him  didn't  have  any  Tona- 
wanda  look  about  her,  though.  She  was  what 
you  might  call  a  frosted  pippin,  a  reg'lar 
dowager  dazzler,  like  the  pictures  you  see  on 
fans.  Her  gray  hair  has  been  spliced  out  with 


62  ODD  NUMBERS 

store  puffs  until  it  looks  like  a  weddin'  cake; 
her  hat  is  one  of  the  new  wash  basin  models, 
covered  with  pink  roses  that  just  matches  the 
color  of  her  cheeks ;  and  her  peekapoo  lace  dress 
fits  her  like  it  had  been  put  onto  her  with  a 
shoe  horn. 

Sure,  I  wa'n't  lookin'  for  any  such  party  as 
this;  but  I  can't  help  takin'  a  second  squint. 
I  notices  what  fine,  gentle  old  eyes  she  has,  and 
while  I  was  doin'  that  I  spots  something  else. 
Just  under  her  chin  is  one  of  them  antique 
coral  pins.  Course,  it  looked  like  a  long  shot, 
but  I  steps  out  to  the  door  and  motions  Vincent 
to  come  in. 

11  I  expect  we're  way  off  the  track,"  says  I; 
"  but  I'd  like  to  have  you  take  a  careless  glance 
at  the  giddy  old  party  over  under  the  kummel 
sign  in  the  corner;  the  one  facin'  this  way — 
there. ' ' 

Vincent  gives  a  jump  at  the  first  look.  Then 
he  starts  lor  her  full  tilt,  me  trailin'  along  and 
whisperin'  to  him  not  to  make  any  fool  break 
unless  he's  dead  sure.  But  there's  no  holdin' 
him  back.  She's  so  busy  chattin'  with  the  re- 
formed Sioux  in  store  clothes  that  she  don't 
notice  Vincent  until  he's  right  alongside,  and 
just  as  she  looks  up  he  lets  loose  his  indigna- 
tion. 

"  Why,  grandmother!  "  says  he. 

She  don't  seem  so  much  jarred  as  you  might 


think.  She  don't  even  drop  the  fork  that  she's 
usin'  to  twist  up  a  gob  of  spaghetti  on.  All 
she  does  is  to  lift  her  eyebrows  in  a  kind  of 
annoyed  way,  and  shoot  a  quick  look  at  the 
copper  tinted  gent  across  the  table. 

'  *  There,  there,  Vincent !  ' '  says  she.  ' '  Please 
don't  grandmother  me;  at  least,  not  in  public." 

"  But,"  says  he,  "  you  know  that  you  are 
a » 

"  I  admit  nothing  of  the  kind,"  says  she. 
"  I  may  be  your  mother;  but  as  for  being  any- 
body's grandmother,  that  is  an  experience  I 
know  nothing  about.  Now  please  run  along, 
Vincent,  and  don 't  bother. ' ' 

That  leaves  Vincent  up  in  the  air  for  keeps. 
He  don't  know  what  to  make  of  this  reception, 
or  of  the  change  that  happened  to  her;  but  he 
feels  he  ought  to  register  some  sort  of  a 
kick. 

"  But,  mother,"  says  he,  "  what  does  this 
mean?  Such  clothes!  And  such — such" — 
here  he  throws  a  meanin'  look  at  the  Indian 
gent. 

"  Allow  me,"  says  grandmother,  breakin'  in 
real  dignified,  "  to  introduce  Mr.  John  Little 
Bear,  son  of  Chief  Won-go-plunki.  I  am  very 
sorry  to  interrupt  our  talk  on  art,  John;  but  I 
suppose  I  must  say  a  few  words  to  Vincent. 
Would  you  mind  taking  your  coffee  on  the  back 
veranda?  " 


64  ODD  NUMBERS 

He  was  a  well  trained  red  man,  John  was, 
and  he  understands  the  back  out  sign;  so  in- 
side of  a  minute  the  crockery  has  been  pushed 
away  and  I'm  attendin'  a  family  reunion  that 
appears  to  be  cast  on  new  lines.  Vincent  be- 
gins again  by  askin'  what  it  all  means. 

"  It  means,  Vincent,"  says  she,  "  that  I  have 
caught  up  with  the  procession.  I  tried  being 
the  old-fashioned  kind  of  grandmother,  and  I 
wasn't  a  success.  Now  I'm  learning  the  new 
way,  and  I  like  it  first  rate. ' ' 

11  But  your — your  clothes!  "  gasps  Vincent. 

"  Well,  what  of  them?  "  says  she.  "  You 
made  fun  of  the  ones  I  used  to  wear;  but  these, 
I  would  have  you  know,  were  selected  for  me  by 
a  committee  of  six  chorus  ladies  who  know 
what  is  what.  I  am  quite  satisfied  with  my 
clothes,  Vincent." 

"  Possibly  they're  all  right,"  says  he;  "  but 
how — how  long  have  you  been  wearing  your 
hair  that  way?  ' 

"  Ever  since  Madam  Montrosini  started  on 
my  improvement  course,"  says  she.  "  I  am 
told  it  is  quite  becoming.  And  have  you  no- 
ticed my  new  waist  line,  Vincent?  ' 

Vincent  hadn't;  but  he  did  then,  and  he  had 
nothin'  to  say,  for  she  has  an  hourglass  lookin' 
like  a  hitchin'  post.  Not  bein'  able  -to  carry 
on  the  debate  under  them  headings,  he  switches 
and  comes  out  strong  on  what  an  awful  thing 


GRANDMOTHER  GETS  GOING       65 

it  was  for  her  to  be  livin'  among  such  dreadful 
people. 

"  Why,"  says  grandmother,  "  they're  real 
nice,  I'm  sure.  They  have  been  just  as  good  to 
me  as  they  could  be.  They  take  turns  going  out 
to  dinner  with  me  and  showing  me  around  the 
town. ' ' 

' '  Good  heavens !  "  says  Vincent.  "  And  this 
— this  Bear  person,  does  he — — 

"  He  is  an  educated,  full  blooded  Sioux," 
says  grandmother.  "  He  has  toured  Europe 
with  Buffalo  Bill,  and  just  now  he  is  an  artists7 
model.  He  is  very  entertaining  company, 
Johnny  is." 

"  Johnny!  "  gasps  Vincent  under  his  breath. 
That's  the  last  straw.  He  lays  down  the  law 
then  and  there  to  grandmother.  If  she  ever  ex- 
pects him  to  recognize  her  again,  she  must 
shake  this  whole  crowd  and  come  with  him. 

"  Where  to,  Vincent?  "  says  she. 

11  Why,  to  my  home,  of  course,"  says  he. 

"  And  have  your  wife's  maid  speak  of  me 
as  a  dumpy  old  scarecrow?    No,  thank  you!  ' 
and  she  calls  the  waiter  to  bring  a  demitasse 
with  cognac. 

"  But  no  one  could  call  you  that  now, 
mother,"  says  Vincent.  "  You — you're  differ- 
ent, quite  different." 

"  Oh,  am  I?  "  says  she. 

"  To  be  sure  you  are,"  says  he.    "  Julia  and 


66  ODD  NUMBERS 

I  would  be  glad  to  have  you  with  us.  Really, 
we  would. ' ' 

She  was  a  good  natured  old  girl,  grandmother 
was.  She  says  she'll  try  it;  but  only  on  one 
condition.  It  was  a  corker,  too.  If  she's  go- 
ing to  give  all  her  good  friends  at  the  actors' 
boardin'  house  the  shake,  she  thinks  it  ought 
to  be  done  at  a  farewell  dinner  at  the  swellest 
place  in  town.  Vincent  groans;  but  he  has  to 
give  in.  And  that's  how  it  happens  the  other 
night  that  about  two  dozen  liberty  people  walked 
up  from  Appetite  Row  and  fed  themselves  off 
Sherry's  gold  plates  until  the  waiters  was  weak 
in  the  knees  watchin'  'em. 

"  Is  the  old  lady  still  leadin'  the  band 
wagon,  Vincent!  "  says  I  to  him  yesterday. 

"  She  is,"  says  he,  "  and  it  is  wonderful  how 
young  she  has  grown. ' ' 

"  New  York  is  a  great  place  for  rejuvenatin' 
grandmothers,"  says  I,  "  specially  around  in 
the  Red  Ink  Zone." 


CHAPTEE  V 

A   LONG    SHOT    ON    DELANCEY 

WELL,  I've  been  slummin'  up  again.  It  hap- 
pens like  this:  I  was  just  preparing  here  the 
other  noontime,  to  rush  around  the  corner  and 
destroy  a  plate  of  lunch  counter  hash  decorated 
with  parsley  and  a  dropped  egg,  when  I  gets 
this  'phone  call  from  Duke  Borden,  who  says 
he  wants  to  see  me  the  worst  way. 

"  Well,"  says  I,  "  the  studio's  still  here  on 
42d-st.,  and  if  your  eyesight  ain't  failed 
you " 

"  Oh,  chop  it,  can't  you,  Shorty?  "  says  he, 
"  This  is  really  important.  Come  right  up? 
can't  you?  " 

"  That  depends,"  says  I.  "  Any  partic'lar 
place?  " 

"  Of  course,"  says  he.  "  Here  at  the  club- 
I'm  to  meet  Chick  Sommers  here  in  half  an 
hour.  We'll  have  luncheon  together  and " 


I.      <  I  don't  know  Chick; 
but  I'm  a  mixer,  and  I'll  stand  for  anything  in 
the  food  line  but  cold  egg.     Scratch  the  chilled 
hen  fruit  and  I'm  with  you." 
Know  about  Duke,  don't  you?    It  ain't  much' 

67 


68  ODD  NUMBERS 

to  tell.  He's  just  one  of  these  big,  handsome, 
overfed  chappies  that  help  the  mounted  traffic 
cops  to  make  Fifth-ave.  look  diff'rent  from 
other  Main-sts.  He  don't  do  any  special  good, 
or  any  partic'lar  harm.  Duke 's  got  just  enough 
sense,  though,  to  have  spasms  of  thinkin'  he 
wants  to  do  something  useful  now  and  then, 
and  all  I  can  dope  out  of  this  emergency  call 
of  his  is  that  this  is  a  new  thought. 

That's  the  answer,  too.  He  begins  tellin'  me 
:about  it  while  the  head  waiter's  leadin'  us  over 
to  a  corner  table.  Oh,  yes,  he's  going  in  for 
business  in  dead  earnest  now,  y'know, — suite 
of  offices,  his  name  on  the  letterheads,  and  all 
that  sort  of  thing,  bah  Jove! 

All  of  which  means  that  Mr.  Chick  Sommers, 
who  was  a  star  quarterback  in  '05,  when  Duke 
was  makin'  his  college  bluff  on  the  Gold  Coast, 
has  rung  him  into  a  South  Jersey  land  boomin' 
scheme.  A  few  others,  friends  of  Chick's,  are 
in  it.  They're  all  rippin'  good  fellows,  too, 
and  awfully  clever  at  planning  out  things. 
Chick  himself,  of  course,  is  a  corker.  It  was 
him  that  insisted  on  Duke's  bein'  treasurer. 

* '  And  really, ' '  says  Duke,  ' '  about  all  I  have 
to  do  is  drop  around  once  or  twice  a  week  and 
sign  a  fe^w  checks." 

"  I  see,"  says  I.  "  They  let  you  supply  the 
funds,  eh?  " 

«  Why,  yes,"  says  Duke.    "  I'm  the  only  one 


A  LONG  SHOT  ON  DsLANCEY       69 

who  can,  y'know.  But  they  depend  a  great 
deal  on  my  judgment,  too.  For  instance,  take 
this  new  deal  that's  on;  it  has  all  been  left  to 
me.  There  are  one  hundred  and  eighteen  acres, 
and  we  don't  buy  a  foot  unless  I  say  so.  That's 
where  you  come  in,  Shorty." 

"  Oh,  do  I!  "  says  I. 

"  You  see,"  Duke  goes  on,  "I'm  supposed  to 
inspect  it  and  make  a  decision  before  the  op- 
tion expires,  which  will  be  day  after  to-mor- 
row. The  fact  is,  I've  been  putting  off  going 
down  there,  and  now  I  find  I've  a  winter  house 

party  on,  up  in  Lenox,  and Well,  you  see 

the  box  I'm  in." 

'  *  Sure !  ' '  says  I.  ' '  You  want  me  to  sub  for 
you  at  Lenox?  " 

"  Deuce  take  it,  no!  "  says  Duke.  "  I  want 
you  to  go  down  and  look  at  that  land  for  me." 

* '  Huh !  ' '  says  I.  ' '  What  I  know  about  real 
estate  wouldn't •" 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right,"  says  Duke.  "It's 
only  a  matter  of  form.  The  boys  say  they 
want  it,  and  I'm  going  to  buy  it  for  them  any- 
way; but,  just  to  have  it  all  straight  and  busi- 
nesslike, either  I  ought  to  see  the  land  myself, 
or  have  it  inspected  by  my  personal  representa- 
tive. Understand?  " 

"  Duke,"  says  I,  "  you're  a  reg'lar  real 
estate  Napoleon.  I  wouldn't  have  believed  it 
was  in  you. ' ' 


70  ODD  NUMBEES 

"  I  know,"  says  he.  "I'm  really  surprised 
at  myself. ' ' 

Next  lie  explains  how  he  happened  to  think  of 
sendin'  me,  and  casually  he  wants  to  know  if  a 
couple  of  hundred  and  expenses  will  be  about 
right  for  spoilin'  two  days  of  my  valuable  time. 
How  could  I  tell  how  much  it  would  lose  me? 
But  I  said  I'd  run  the  chances. 

Then  Chick  shows  up,  and  they  begin  to  talk 
over  the  details  of  this  new  bungalow  boom 
town  that's  to  be  located  on  the  Jersey  side. 

"  I  tell  you,"  says  Chick,  "  it'll  be  a  winner 
from  the  start.  Why,  there's  every  advantage 
anyone  could  wish  for, — ocean  breezes  mingled 
with  pine  scented  zephyrs,  magnificent  views, 
and  a  railroad  running  right  through  the  prop- 
erty !  The  nearest  station  now  is  Clam  Creek ; 
but  we  '11  have  one  of  our  own,  with  a  new  name^ 
Clam  Creek !  Ugh !  How  does  Pinemere  strike 
you!  " 

' '  Perfectly  ripping,  by  Jove !  ' '  says  Duke,  so 
excited  over  it  that  he  lights  the  cork  end  of  his 
cigarette.  "  Shorty,  you  must  go  right  down 
there  for  me.  Can't  you  start  as  soon  as  you've 
had  your  coffee?  " 

Oh,  but  it  was  thrillin',  listenin'  to  them  two 
amateur  real  estaters  layin'  plans  that  was  to 
make  a  seashore  wilderness  blossom  with  sur- 
veyors' stakes  and  fresh  painted  signs  like 
Belvidere-ave.,  Ozone  Boulevard,  and  so  on. 


A  LONG  SHOT  ON  DfiLANCEY       71 

It  struck  me,  though,  that  they  was  discussin' 
their  scheme  kind  of  free  and  public.  I  spots 
one  white  haired,  dignified  old  boy,  doing  the 
solitaire  feed  at  the  table  back  of  Duke,  who 
seems  more  or  less  int 'rested.  And  I  notices 
that  every  time  Clam  Creek  is  mentioned  he 
pricks  up  his  ears.  Sure  enough,  too,  just  as 
we're  finishing,  he  steps  over  and  taps  Duke 
on  the  shoulder. 

"  Why,  howdy  do,  Mr.  Cathaway  ?  "  says 
Duke.  "  Charmed  to  see  you,  by  Jove!  '; 

And  it  turns  out  he's  DeLancey  Cathaway, 
the  big  noise  in  the  philanthropy  game,  him 
that  gets  up  societies  for  suppressin'  the  poor 
and  has  his  name  on  hospitals  and  iron  drinkin' 
fountains.  After  he's  been  introduced  all 
around  he  admits  that  he's  caught  one  or  two 
remarks,  and  says  he  wants  to  congratulate 
Duke  on  givin'  up  his  idle  ways  and  breakin' 
into  an  active  career. 

Oh,  he's  a  smooth  old  party,  Mr.  Cathaway 
is!  He  don't  let  on  to  be  more'n  moderately 
int  'rested,  and  the  next  thing  I  know  he 's  sidled 
away  from  Duke  and  is  walkin'  out  alongside 
of  me. 

* '  Going  down  town  ?  ' '  says  he.  1 1  Then  per- 
haps you  will  allow  me  to  give  you  a  lift?  "  and 
he  motions  to  his  town  car  waiting  at  the  curb. 

"  Gee!  "  thinks  I.  "I'm  makin'  a  hit  with 
the  nobility,  me  and  my  winnin'  ways!  "' 


72  ODD  NUMBERS 

That  don't  exactly  state  the  case,  though; 
for  as  soon  as  we're  alone  DeLancey  comes 
right  to  cases. 

"  I  understand,  Mr.  McCabe,"  says  he,  "  that 
you  are  to  visit  Clam  Creek." 

"  Yep,"  says  I.  "  Sounds  enticin',  don't 
it?" 

11  Doubtless  you  will  spend  a  day  or  so 
there  ?  "  he  goes  on. 

( '  Over  night,  anyway, ' '  says  I. 

"  Hum!  "  says  he.  "  Then  you  will  hardly 
fail  to  meet  my  brother.  He  is  living  at  Clam 
Creek." 

"  What!  "  says  I.    "  Not  Broadway  Bob?  " 

"  Yes,"  says  he,  "  Eobert  and  his  wife  have 
been  there  for  nearly  two  years.  At  least,  that 
is  where  I  have  been  sending  his  allowance." 

"  Mrs.  Bob  too!  "  says  I.  "  Why — why,  say, 
you  don't  mean  the  one  that " 

"  The  same,"  he  cuts  in.  "  I  know  they're 
supposed  to  be  abroad;  but  they're  not,  they  are 
at  Clam  Creek." 

Maybe  you've  heard  about  the  Bob  Catha- 
ways,  and  maybe  you  ain't.  There's  so  many 
new  riear-plutes  nowadays  that  the  old  fam- 
ilies ain't  getting  the  advertisin*  they've  been 
used  to.  Anyway,  it's  been  sometime  since 
Broadway  Bob  had  his  share  of  the  limelight. 
You  see,  Bob  sort  of  had  his  day  when  he  was 
along  in  his  thirties,  and  they  say  he  was  a  real 


A  LONG  SHOT  ON  DELANCEY       73 

oldtime  sport  and  rounder,  which  was  why  he 
was  let  in  so  bad  when  old  man  Cathaway's  will 
was  probated.  All  Bob  pulls  out  is  a  couple  of 
thousand  a  year,  even  that  being  handled  first 
by  Brother  DeLancey,  who  cops  all  the  rest  of 
the  pile  as  a  reward  for  always  having  gone  in 
strong  for  charity  and  the  perfectly  good  life. 

It's  a  case  where  virtue  shows  up  strong  from 
the  first  tap  of  the  bell.  Course,  Bob  can  look 
back  on  some  years  of  vivid  joy,  when  he  was 
rnakin'  a  record  as  a  quart  opener,  buyin'  stacks 
of  blues  at  Daly's,  or  over  at  Monte  Carlo  bet- 
tin'  where  the  ball  would  stop.  But  all  this 
ends  mighty  abrupt. 

In  the  meantime  Bob  has  married  a  lively 
young  lady  that  nobody  knew  much  about  ex- 
cept that  she  was  almost  as  good  a  sport  as  he 
was,  and  they  were  doin'  some  great  teamwork 
in  the  way  of  livenin'  up  society,  when  the 
crash  came. 

Then  it  was  the  noble  hearted  DeLancey  to 
the  rescue.  He  don't  exactly  take  them  right 
into  the  fam'ly;  but  he  sends  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bob 
over  to  his  big  Long  Island  country  place,  as- 
signs 'em  quarters  in  the  north  wing,  and  ad- 
vises 'em  to  be  as  happy  as  they  can.  Now  to 
most  folks  that  would  look  like  landin'  on  Vel- 
veteen-st., — free  eats,  no  room  rent,  and  a  forty- 
acre  park  to  roam  around  in,  with  the  use  of  a 
couple  of  safe  horses  and  a  libr'y  full  of  im- 


74  ODD  NUMBERS 

provin'  books,  such  as  the  Eollo  series  and  the 
works  of  Dr.  Van  Dyke. 

Brother  Bob  don't  squeal  or  whine.  He 
starts  in  to  make  the  best  of  it  by  riggin'  him- 
self out  like  an  English  Squire  and  makin'  a 
stagger  at  the  country  gentleman  act.  He  takes 
a  real  int'rest  in  keepin'  up  the  grounds  and 
managin'  the  help,  which  DeLancey  had  never 
been  able  to  do  himself. 

It's  as  dull  as  dishwater,  though,  for  Mrs. 
Eobert  Cathaway,  and  as  there  ain't  anyone 
else  handy  she  takes  it  out  on  Bob.  Accordin' 
to  all  accounts,  they  must  have  done  the  anvil 
chorus  good  and  plenty.  You  can  just  see  how 
it  would  be,  with  them  two  dumped  down  so  far 
from  Broadway  and  only  now  and  then  comp  'ny 
to  break  the  monotony.  "When  people  did  come, 
too,  they  was  DeLancey 's  kind.  I  can  picture 
Bob  tryin'  to  get  chummy  with  a  bunch  of  prison 
reformers  or  delegates  to  a  Sunday  school 
union.  I  don't  wonder  his  disposition  curdled 
up. 

If  it  hadn't  been  for  Mrs.  Bob,  though,  they'd 
been  there  yet.  She  got  so  used  to  rowin'  with 
Bob  that  she  kept  it  up  even  when  Brother  De- 
Lancey and  his  friends  came  down.  DeLancey 
stands  for  it  until  one  morning  at  breakfast, 
when  he  was  entertainin'  an  English  Bishop 
he'd  corraled  at  some  conference.  Him  and 
the  Bishop  was  exchangin'  views  on  whether 


free  soup  and  free  salvation  was  a  good  workin' 
combination  or  not,  when  some  little  thing  sets 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bob  to  naggin'  each  other  on  the 
side.  I  forgot  just  what  it  was  Bob  shot  over; 
but  after  standin'  her  jabs  for  quite  some  time 
without  gettin7  real  personal  he  comes  back 
with  some  stage  whisper  remark  that  cut  in 
deep. 

Mrs.  Bob  was  right  in  the  act  of  helpin'  her- 
self to  the  jelly  omelet,  usin'  a  swell  silver 
servin'  shovel  about  half  the  size  of  a  brick 
layer's  trowel.  She's  so  stirred  up  that  she  ab- 
sentmindedly  scoops  up  a  double  portion,  and 
just  as  Bob  springs  his  remark  what  does  she  do 
but  up  and  let  fly  at  him,  right  across  the  table. 
Maybe  she'd  have  winged  him  too, — and  served 
him  right  for  saying  what  no  gentleman  should 
to  a  lady,  even  if  she  is  his  wife, — but,  what 
with  her  not  stoppin'  to  take  good  aim,  and  the 
maid's  gettin'  her  tray  against  her  elbow,  she 
misses  Bob  by  about  three  feet  and  plasters  the 
English  Bishop  square  between  the  eyes. 

Now  of  course  that  wa'n't  any  way  to  serve 
hot  omelet  to  a  stranger,  no  matter  how  an- 
noyed you  was.  DeLancey  told  her  as  much 
while  he  was  helpin' swab  off  the  reverend  guest. 
Afterwards  he  added  other  observations  more 
or  less  definite.  Inside  of  two  hours  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Bob  found  their  baggage  waitin'  under  the 
porte  cochere,  and  the  wagonette  ready  to  take 


76  ODD  NUMBEES 

'em  to  the  noon  train.  They  went.  It  was 
given  out  that  they  was  travelin'  abroad,  and 
if  it  hadn't  been  for  the  omelet  part  of  the 
incident  they'd  been  forgotten  long  ago.  That 
was  a  stunt  that  stuck,  though. 

As  I  looks  at  DeLancey  there  in  the  limousine 
I  has  to  grin.  "  Say,"  says  I,  "  was  it  a  fact 
that  the  Bishop  broke  loose  and  cussed?  ' 

' ;  That  humiliating  affair,  Mr.  McCabe, ' '  says 
he,  "  I  would  much  prefer  not  to  talk  about. 
I  refer  to  my  brother  now  because,  knowing 
that  you  are  going  to  Clam  Creek,  you  will  prob- 
ably meet  him  there." 

' '  Oh !  ' '  says  I.  '  *  Like  to  have  me  give  him 
your  best  regards?  " 

11  No,"  says  DeLancey.  "  I  should  like,  how- 
ever, to  hear  how  you  found  him. ' ' 

"  Another  report,  eh?  "  says  I.  "  All  right, 
Mr.  CathawayyFll  size  him  up  for  you." 

"  But  chiefly,"  he  goes  on,  "  I  shall  depend 
upon  your  discretion  not  to  mention  my 
brother's  whereabouts  to  anyone  else.  As  an 
aid  to  that  discretion,"  says  he,  digging  up  his 
roll  and  sortin'  out  some  tens,  "  I  am  prepared 
to " 

"  Ah,  button  'em  back!  "  says  I.  "  Who  do 
you  think  you're  dealin'  with,  anyway?  ' 

"  Why,"  says  he,  flushin'  up,  "  I  merely  in- 
tended  " 

* '  Well,  forget  it !  "  says  I.    "I  ain  't  runnin ' 


A  LONG  SHOT  ON  DELANCEY       77 

any  opposition  to  the  Black  Hand,  and  as  for 
whether  I  leak  out  where  your  brother  is  or 
not,  that's  something  you  got  to  take  chances 
on.  Pull  up  there,  Mr.  Chauffeur!  This  is 
where  I  start  to  walk.'7 

And  say,  you  could  put  his  name  on  all  the 
hospitals  and  orphan  asylums  in  the  country; 
but  I  never  could  see  it  again  without  growin' 
warm  under  the  collar.  Bah!  Some  of  these 
perfectly  good  folks  have  a  habit  of  gettin'  on 
my  nerves.  All  the  way  down  to  Clam  Creek 
I  kept  tryin'  to  wipe  him  off  the  slate,  and  I'd 
made  up  my  mind  to  dodge  Brother  Bob,  if  I 
had  to  sleep  in  the  woods. 

So  as  soon  as  I  hops  off  the  train  I  gets  my 
directions  and  starts  to  tramp  over  this  tract 
that  Duke  Borden  was  plannin'  on  blowin'  some 
of  his  surplus  cash  against.  And  say,  if  any- 
body wants  an  imitation  desert,  dotted  with 
scrub  pine  and  fringed  with  salt  marshes,  that's 
the  place  to  go  lookin'  for  it.  There 's  hundreds 
of  square  miles  of  it  down  there  that  nobody's 
usin',  or  threatenin'  to. 

Also  I  walked  up  an  appetite  like  a  fresh 
landed  hired  girl.  I  was  so  hungry  that  I  pikes 
straight  for  the  only  hotel  and  begs  'em  to  lead 
me  to  a  knife  and  fork.  For  a  wonder,  too, 
they  brings  on  some  real  food,  plain  and  hearty, 
and  I  don't  worry  about  the  way  it's  thrown  at 
me. 


78  ODD  NUMBERS 

Yon  know  how  it  is  out  in  the  kerosene  dis- 
trict. I  finds  myself  face  to  face  with  a  hunk 
of  corned  beef  as  big  as  my  two  fists,  boiled 
Murphies,  cabbage  and  canned  corn  on  the  side, 
bread  sliced  an  inch  thick,  and  spring  freshet 
coffee  in  a  cup  you  couldn't  break  with  an  ax. 
Lizzie,  the  waitress,  was  chewin'  gum  and 
watchin'  to  see  if  I  was  one  of  them  fresh  trav- 
elin'  gents  that  would  try  any  funny  cracks 
on  her. 

I'd  waded  through  the  food  programme  as 
far  as  makin'  a  choice  between  tapioca  puddin' 
and  canned  peaches,  when  in  drifts  a  couple  that 
I  knew,  the  minute  I  gets  my  eyes  on  'em,  must 
be  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bob  Cathaway.  Who  else  in 
that  little  one-horse  town  would  be  sportin'  a 
pair  of  puttee  leggin's  and  doeskin  ridin' 
breeches?  That  was  Bob's  makeup,  includin* 
a  flap-pocketed  Qutaway  of  Harris  tweed  and  a 
corduroy  vest.  They  fit  him  a  little  snug, 
showin'  he's  laid  on  some  flesh  since  he  had  'em 
built.  Also  he's  a  lot  grayer  than  I  expected, 
knowin'  him  to  be  younger  than  DeLancey. 

As  for  Mrs.  Bob — well,  if  you  can  remember 
how  the  women  was  dressin'  as  far  back  as  two 
years  ago,  and  can  throw  on  the  screen  a  pic- 
ture of  a  woman  who  has  only  the  reminders 
of  her  good  looks  left,  you'll  have  her  framed 
tip.  A  pair  of  seedy  thoroughbreds,  they  was, 
seedy  and  down  and  out. 


A  LONG  SHOT  ON  DELANCEY       79 

I  was  wonderin'  if  they  still  indulged  in  them 
lively  fam'ly  debates,  and  how  soon  I'd  have  to 
begin  dodgin'  dishes;  but  they  sits  down  across 
the  table  from  me  and  hardly  swaps  a  word. 
All  I  notices  is  the  scornful  way  Lizzie  asks 
if  they'll  have  soup,  and  the  tremble  to  Bob 
Cathaway's  hand  as  he  lifts  his  water  tumbler. 

As  there  was  only  us  three  in  the  room,  and 
as  none  of  us  seemed  to  have  anything  to  say, 
it  wa'n't  what  you  might  call  a  boisterous  as- 
semblage. While  I  was  waitin'  for  dessert  I 
put  in  the  time  gazin'  around  at  the  scenery, 
from  the  moldy  pickle  jars  at  either  end  of  the 
table,  over  to  the  walnut  sideboard  where  they 
kept  the  plated  cake  basket  and  the  ketchup 
bottles,  across  to  the  framed  fruit  piece  that 
had  seen  so  many  hard  fly  seasons,  and  up  to 
the  smoky  ceilin'.  I  looked  everywhere  except 
at  the  pair  opposite. 

Lizzie  was  balancin'  the  soup  plates  on  her 
left  arm  and  singsongin'  the  bill  of  fare  to  'em. 
"  Col '-pork-  col'  -  ham  -  an  '-corn-beef  -'n  '-cab- 
bage, "  says  she. 

If  Bob  Cathaway  didn't  shudder  at  that,  I 
did  for  him.  "  You  may  bring  me — er — some 
of  the  latter,"  says  he. 

I  tested  the  canned  peaches  and  then  took 
a  sneak.  On  one  side  of  the  front  hall  was  the 
hotel  parlor,  full  of  plush  furniture  and  stuffed 
birds.  The  office  and  bar  was  on  the  other.  I 


80  ODD  NUMBERS 

strolls  in  where  half  a  dozen  Clam  Creekers  was 
sittin'  around  a  big  sawdust  box  indulgin' 
in  target  practice;  but  after  a  couple  of 
sniffs  I  concludes  that  the  breathin'  air  is  all 
outside. 

After  half  an  hour's  stroll  I  goes  in,  takes  a 
lamp  off  the  hall  table,  and  climbs  up  to  No.  7. 
It's  as  warm  and  cheerful  as  an  underground 
beer  vault.  Also  I  finds  the  window  nailed 
down.  Huntin'  for  someone  to  fetch  me  a 
hammer  was  what  sent  me  roamin'  through  the 
hall  and  took  me  past  No.  11,  where  the  door 
was  part  way  open.  And  in  there,  with  an  oil- 
stove  to  keep  'em  from  freezin',  I  see  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Bob  Cathaway  sittin'  at  a  little  marble 
topped  table  playin'  double  dummy  bridge.  Say, 
do  you  know,  that  unexpected  glimpse  of  this 
little  private  hard  luck  proposition  of  theirs 
kind  of  got  me  in  the  short  ribs.  And  next 
thing  I  knew  I  had  my  head  in  the  door. 

"  For  the  love  of  Mike,"  says  I,  "  how  do 
you  stand  it?  " 

"  Eh?  "  says  Bob,  droppin'  his  cards  and 
starin'  at  me.  "  I — I  beg  pardon?  ' 

Well,  with  that  I  steps  in,  tells  him  who  I 
am,  and  how  I'd  just  had  a  talk  with  Brother 
DeLancey.  Do  I  get  the  glad  hand?  "Why, 
you'd  thought  I  was  a  blooming  he  angel 
come  straight  from  the  pearly  gates.  Bob 
drags  me  in,  pushes  me  into  the  only  rocker  in 


A  LONG  SHOT  ON  DELANCEY       81 

the  room,  shoves  a  cigar  box  at  me,  and  begins 
to  haul  decanters  from  under  the  washstand. 
They  both  asks  questions  at  once.  How  is 
everybody,  and  who 's  married  who,  and  are  so 
and  so  still  living  together? 

I  reels  off  society  gossip  for  an  hour  before 
I  gets  a  chance  to  do  some  pumpin'  on  my  own 
hook.  What  I  wants  to  know  is  why  in  blazes 
they're  hidin'  in  a  hole  like  Clam  Creek. 

Bob  only  shrugs  his  shoulders.  "  Why  not 
here  as  well  as  anywhere?  "  says  he.  "  When 
you  can't  afford  to  live  among  your  friends, 
why — you  live  in  Clam  Creek." 

' '  But  two  years  of  it ! ' '  says  I.  *  '  What  do 
you  find  to  do?'" 

"  Oh,  we  manage,"  says  he,  wavin'  at  the 
double  dummy  outfit.  "  Babe  and  I  have  our 
little  game.  It's  only  for  a  dime  a  point;  but 
it  helps  pass  away  the  time.  You  see,  when 
our  monthly  allowance  comes  in  we  divide  it 
equally  and  take  a  fresh  start.  The  winner  has 
the  privilege  of  paying  our  bills." 

How  was  that  for  excitement?  And  Bob 
whispers  to  me,  as  we  starts  out  for  a  little 
walk  before  turnin'  in,  "I  generally  fix  it  so 
Babe — er,  Mrs.  Cathaway — can  win,  you 
know. ' ' 

From  other  little  hints  I  gathers  that  their 
stay  in  Clam  Creek  has  done  one  thing  for  'em, 
anyway.  It  had  put  'em  wise  to  the  great  fact 


82  ODD  NUMBEBS 

that  the  best  way  for  two  parties  to  get  along 
together  is  to  cut  out  the  hammer  music. 

"  So  you  had  a  talk  with  DeLancey?  "  says 
Bob  on  the  way  back.  "  I  suppose  he — er — 
sent  no  message?  " 

It  had  taken  Bob  Cathaway  all  this  while  to 
work  up  to  that  question,  and  he  can't  steady 
down  his  voice  as  he  puts  it.  And  that  quaver 
tells  me  the  whole  story  of  how  he's  been  hop- 
ing all  along  that  Brother  DeLancey  would 
sometime  or  other  get  over  his  grouch.  Which 
puts  it  up  to  me  to  tell  him  what  a  human  ice- 
berg he's  related  to.  Did  I?  Honest,  there's 
times  when  I  ain't  got  much  use  for  the  truth. 

"  Message?  "  says  I,  prompt  and  cheerful. 
"  Now  what  in  blazes  was  it  he  did  say  to  tell 
you?  Something  about  asking  how  long  before 
you  and  Mrs.  Cathaway  was  goin'  to  run  up  and 
make  him  a  visit;  I  guess. " 

"  A  visit!  "  gasps  Bob.  "  Did — did  DeLan- 
cey say  that?  Then  thank  Heaven  it's  over! 
Come  on!  Hurry!  "  and  he  grabs  me  by  the 
arm,  tows  me  to  the  hotel,  and  makes  a  dash 
up  the  stairs  towards  their  room. 

"  What  do  you  think,  Babe?  "  says  he, 
pantin'.  "  DeLancey  wants  to  know  when 
we're  coming  back!  " 

For  a  minute  Mrs.  Bob  don't  say  a  word,  but 
just  stands  there,  her  hands  gripped  in  Bob's, 
and  the  dew  startin'  out  of  her  eye  corners. 


A  LONG  SHOT  ON  DELANCEY       83 

Then  she  asks,  sort  of  husky,  "  Isn't  there  a 
night  train,  Bob?  " 

There  wa'n't;  but  there  was  one  at  six- thirty- 
eight  in  the  mornin'.  We  all  caught  it,  too,  both 
of  'em  as  chipper  as  a  pair  of  kids,  and  me  won- 
derin'  how  it  was  all  goin'  to  turn  out. 

For  three  days  after  that  I  never  went  to  the 
'phone  without  expectin'  to  hear  from  Bob 
Cathaway,  expressin'  his  opinion  about  my 
qualifications  for  the  Ananias  class.  And  then 
here  the  other  afternoon  I  runs  into  Brother 
DeLancey  on  the  avenue,  not  seein'  him  quick 
enough  to  beat  it  up  a  side  street. 

"  Ah,  McCabe,"  he  sings  out,  "  just  a  mo- 
ment !  That  little  affair  about  my  Brother  Rob- 
ert, you  know." 

"  Sure,  I  know,"  says  I,  bracin'  myself, 
"  Where  is  he  now?  " 

"  Why,"  says  DeLancey,  with  never  an  eye- 
lash fluttering  "  he  and  his  wife  are  living  at 
Green  Oaks  again.  Just  returned  from  an  ex- 
tended trip  abroad,  you  know."  Then  he 
winks. 

Say,  who  was  it  sent  out  that  bulletin  about 
how  all  men  was  liars?  I  ain't  puttin'  in  any 
not  guilty  plea;  but  I'd  like  to  add  that  some 
has  got  it  down  finer  than  others. 


CHAPTER  VI 

PLAYING  HAROLD  BOTH  WATS 

ANYWAY,  they  came  bunched,  and  that  was 
some  comfort.  Eh?  Well,  first  off  there  was 
the  lovers,  then  there  was  Harold;  and  it  was 
only  the  combination  that  saved  me  from  de- 
velopin*  an  ingrowin'  grouch. 

You  can  guess  who  it  was  accumulated  the 
lovers.  Why,  when  Sadie  comes  back  from  Bar 
Harbor  and  begins  tellin'  me  about  'em,  you'd 
thought  she'd  been  left  something  in  a  will, 
she's  so  pleased. 

Seems  there  was  these  .two  young  ladies, 
friends  of  some  friends  of  hers,  that  was  bein' 
just  as  miserable  as  they  could  be  up  there. 
One  was  visitin'  the  other,  and,  as  I  made  out 
from  Sadie's  description,  they  must  have  been 
havin'  an  awful  time,  livin'  in  one  of  them 
eighteen-room  cottages  built  on  a  point  juttin' 
a  mile  or  so  out  into  the  ocean,  with  nothin'  but 
yachts  and  motor  boats  and  saddle  horses  and 
tennis  courts  and  so  on  to  amuse  themselves 
with. 

I  inspected  some  of  them  places  when  I  was 
up  that  way  not  long  ago, — joints  where  they 

84 


PLAYING  HAROLD  BOTH  WAYS      85 

get  their  only  information  about  hot  waves  by 
readin'  the  papers, — and  I  can  just  imagine  how 
I  could  suffer  puttin'  in  a  summer  there.  Say, 
some  folks  don't  know  when  they're  well  off, 
do  they? 

And  what  do  you  suppose  the  trouble  with 
'em  was?  Why,  Bobbie  and  Charlie  was 
missin'.  Honest,  that's  all  the  place  lacked  to 
make  it  a  suburb  of  Paradise.  But  that  was 
enough  for  the  young  ladies;  for  each  of  'em 
was  sportin'  a  diamond  ring  on  the  proper 
finger,  and,  as  they  confides  to  Sadie,  what  was 
the  use  of  havin'  summer  at  all,  if  one's  fiance 
couldn't  be  there? 

Bobbie  and  Charlie,  it  appears,  was  slavin7 
away  in  the  city;  one  tryin'  to  convince  Papa 
that  he'd  be  a  real  addition  to  Wall  Street,  and 
the  other  trainin'  with  Uncle  for  a  job  as  vice 
president  of  a  life  insurance  company.  So 
what  did  Helen  and  Marjorie  care  about  sea 
breezes  and  picture  postal  scenery?  Once  a 
day  they  climbed  out  to  separate  perches  on  the 
rocks  to  read  letters  from  Bobbie  and  Charlie ; 
and  the  rest  of  the  time  they  put  in  com- 
parin'  notes  and  help  in'  each  other  be  miser- 
able. 

"  Ah,  quit  it,  Sadie !  "  says  I,  interruptin'  the 
sad  tale.  "  Do  you  want  to  make  me  cry?  " 

"  Well,  they  were  wretched,  even  if  you  don't 
believe  it,"  says  she;  "  so  I  just  told  them  to 


86  ODD  NUMBERS 

come  right  down  here  for  the  rest  of  the  sea- 
son." 

"  Wha-a-at!  "  says  I.     "  Not  here?  " 

"  Why  not!  "  says  Sadie.  "  The  boys  can 
run  up  every  afternoon  and  have  dinner  with 
us  and  stay  over  Sunday,  and — and  it  will  be 
just  lovely.  You  know  how  much  I  like  to  have 
young  people  around.  So  do  you,  too." 

"  Yes,  that's  all  right,"  says  I;  "  but " 

"  Oh,  I  know,"  says  she.  "  This  isn't 
matchmaking,  though.  They're  already  en- 
gaged, and  it  will  be  just  delightful  to  have  them 
with  us.  Now  won't  it?  " 

"  Maybe  it  will,"  says  I.  "  We  ain't  ever 
done  this  wholesale  before;  so  I  ain't  sure." 

Someway,  I  had  a  hunch  that  two  pair  of 
lovers  knockin'  around  the  premises  at  once 
might  be  most  too  much  of  a  good  thing;  but, 
as  long  as  I  couldn't  quote  any  authorities,  I 
didn't  feel  like  keepin'  on  with  the  debate. 

I  couldn't  object  any  to  the  style  of  the  young 
ladies  when  they  showed  up ;  for  they  was  both 
in  the  queen  class,  tall  and  willowy  and  sweet 
faced.  One  could  tease  opera  airs  out  of  the 
piano  in  great  shape,  and  the  other  had  quite 
some  of  a  voice;  so  the  prospects  were  for  a 
few  weeks  of  lively  and  entertainin'  evenin's 
at  the  McCabe  mansion.  I  had  the  programme 
all  framed  up  too, — me  out  on  the  veranda  with 
my  heels  on  the  rail,  the  windows  open,  and 


PLAYING  HAKOLD  BOTH  WAYS      87 

inside  the  young  folks  strikin'  up  the  melodies 
and  inakin'  merry  gen 'rally. 

Bobbie  and  Charles  made  more  or  less  of  a 
hit  with  me  too  when  they  first  called, — good, 
husky,  clean  built  young  gents  that  passed  out 
the  cordial  grip  and  remarked  real  hearty  how 
much  they  appreciated  our  great  kindness 
askin'  'em  up. 

"  Don't  mention  it,"  says  I.  "  It's  a  fad  of 
mine. ' ' 

Anyway,  it  looked  like  a  good  game  to  be  in 
on,  seein'  there  wa'n't  any  objections  from  any 
of  the  f  am 'lies.  Made  me  feel  bright  and 
chirky,  just  to  see  'em  there,  so  that  night  at 
dinner  I  cut  loose  with  some  real  cute  joshes 
for  the  benefit  of  the  young  people.  You  know 
how  easy  it  is  to  be  humorous  on  them  occa- 
sions. Honest,  I  must  have  come  across  with 
some  of  the  snappiest  I  had  in  stock,  and  I  was 
watchin'  for  the  girls  to  pink  up  and  accuse 
me  of  bein'  an  awful  kidder,  when  all  of  a 
sudden  I  tumbles  to  the  fact  that  I  ain't  holdin' 
my  audience. 

Say,  they'd  started  up  a  couple  of  conversa- 
tions on  their  own  hook — kind  of  side  issue, 
soft  pedal  dialogues — and  they  wa'n't  takin' 
the  slightest  notice  of  my  brilliant  efforts.  At 
the  other  end  of  the  table  Sadie  is  havin'  more 
or  less  the  same  experience ;  for  every  time  she 
tries  to  cut  in  with  some  cheerful  observation 


88  ODD  NUMBEES 

she  finds  she's  addressin'  either  Marjorie's  left 
shoulder  or  Bobbie's  right. 

"  Eh,  Sadie?  "  says  I  across  the  centerpiece. 
11  What  was  that  last  of  yours!  " 

"  It  doesn't  matter,"  says  she.  "  Shall  we 
have  coffee  in  the  library,  girls,  or  outside? 

I  say,  Helen,  shall  we  have I  beg  pardon, 

Helen,  but  would  you  prefer " 


"  What  we  seem  to  need  most,  Sadie, : 
I   as    she   gives   it   up,    "  is    a   table   mega- 
phone." 

Nobody  hears  this  suggestion,  though,  not 
even  Sadie.  I  was  lookin'  for  the  fun  to  begin 
after  dinner, — the  duets  and  the  solos  and  the 
quartets, — but  the  first  thing  Sadie  and  I 
know  we  are  occupyin'  the  libr'y  all  by  our- 
selves, with  nothing  doing  in  the  merry  music 
line. 

"  Of  course,"  says  she,  "  they  want  a  little 
time  by  themselves." 

"  Sure!  "  says  I.  "  Half -hour  out  for  the 
reunion. ' ' 

It  lasts  some  longer,  though.  At  the  end  of 
an  hour  I  thinks  I'll  put  in  the  rest  of  the  wait 
watchin'  the  moon  come  up  out  of  Long  Island 
Sound  from  my  fav'rite  corner  of  the  veranda; 
but  when  I  gets  there  I  finds  it's  occupied. 

"  Excuse  me,"  says  I,  and  beats  it  around 
to  the  other  side,  where  there's  a  double  rocker 
that  I  can  gen 'rally  be  comfortable  in.  Hanged 


PLAYING  HAROLD  BOTH  WAYS      89 

if  I  didn't  come  near  sittin'  slam  down  on 
the  second  pair,  that  was  snuggled  up  close 
there  in  the  dark! 

' '  Aha !  ' '  says  I  in  my  best  comic  vein.  * '  So 
here's  where  you  are,  eh?  Fine  night,  ain't 
it?" 

There's  a  snicker  from  the  young  lady,  a 
grunt  from  the  young  gent;  but  nothing  else 
happens  in  the  way  of  a  glad  response.  So  I 
chases  back  into  the  house. 

"  It's  lovely  out,  isn't  it?  "  says  Sadie. 

"  Yes,"  says  I;  "  but  more  or  less  mushy  in 
spots." 

With  that  we  starts  in  to  sit  up  for  'em. 
Sadie  says  we  got  to  because  we're  doin'  the 
chaperon  act.  And,  say,  I've  seen  more  ex- 
citin*  games.  I  read  three  evenin'  papers  clear 
through  from  the  weather  forecast  to  the  bond 
quotations,  and  I  finished  by  goin'  sound  asleep 
in  my  chair.  I  don't  know  whether  Bobbie  and 
Charlie  caught  the  milk  train  back  to  town  or 
not;  but  they  got  away  sometime  before  break- 
fast. 

"  Oh,  well,"  says  Sadie,  chokin'  off  a  yawn 
as  she  pours  the  coffee,  "  this  was  their  first 
evening  together,  you  know.  I  suppose  they 
had  a  lot  to  say  to  each  other." 

11  Must  have  had,"  says  I.  "I  shouldn't 
think  they'd  have  to  repeat  that  performance 
for  a  month." 


90  ODD  NUMBEES 

Next  night,  though,  it's  the  same  thing,  and 
the  next,  and  the  next.  "  Poor  things !  "  thinks 
I.  "I  expect  they're  afraid  of  being  guyed." 
So,  just  to  show  how  sociable  and  friendly  I 
could  be,  I  tries  buttin'  in  on  these  lonely  teeter- 
tates.  First  I'd  hunt  up  one  couple  and  sub- 
mit some  samples  of  my  best  chatter — gettin' 
about  as  much  reply  as  if  I  was  ringin'  Central 
with  the  wire  down.  Then  I  locates  the  other 
pair,  drags  a  rocker  over  near  'em,  and  tries 
to  make  the  dialogue  three  handed.  They 
stands  it  for  a  minute  or  so  before  decidin'  to 
move  to  another  spot. 

Honest,  I  never  expected  to  feel  lonesome 
right  at  home  entertainin'  guests!  but  I  was 
gettin '  acquainted  with  the  sensation.  There's 
no  musical  doings,  no  happy  groups  and  gay 
laughter  about  the  house;  nothing  but  now 
and  then  a  whisper  from  dark  corners,  or  the 
creak  of  the  porch  swings. 

"  Gee!  but  they're  takin'  their  spoonin' 
serious,  ain't  they?  "  says  I  to  Sadie.  "  And 
how  popular  we  are  with  'em !  Makes  me  feel 
almost  like  I  ought  to  put  on  a  gag  and  sit 
down  cellar  in  the  coalbin." 

"Pooh!"  says  Sadie,  makin*  a  bluff  she 
didn't  mind.  "  Do  let  them  enjoy  themselves 
in  their  own  way/' 

' '  Sure  I  will, ' '  says  I.  ' '  Only  this  chaperon 
business  is  gettin'  on  my  nerves.  I  don't  feel 


PLAYING  HAROLD  BOTH  WAYS      91 

like  a  host  here ;  I  feel  more  like  a  second  story 
man  dodgin'  the  night  watchman." 

There  wa'n't  any  signs  of  a  change,  either. 
When  they  had  to  be  around  where  we  was 
they  had  hardly  a  word  to  say  and  acted  bored 
to  death;  and  it  must  have  taxed  their  brains, 
workin'  up  all  them  cute  little  schemes  for 
leavin'  us  on  a  siding  so  they  could  pair  off. 
Course,  I've  seen  engaged  couples  before;  but 
I  never  met  any  that  had  the  disease  quite  so 
hard.  And  this  bein'  shunned  like  I  had  some- 
thin'  catchin'  was  new  to  me.  I  begun  to  feel 
like  I  was  about  ninety  years  old  and  in  the 
way. 

Sunday  forenoon  was  the  limit,  though. 
Sadie  had  planned  to  take  'em  all  for  a  motor 
trip;  but  they  declines  with  thanks.  Would 
they  rather  go  out  on  the  water?  No,  they 
didn't  care  for  that,  either.  All  they  seems 
to  want  to  do  is  wander  round,  two  by  two, 
where  we  ain't.  And  at  that  Sadie  loses  some 
of  her  enthusiasm  for  havin'  bunches  of  lovers 
around. 

"  Humph! "  I  hears  her  remark  as  she 
watches  Bobbie  and  Marjorie  sidestep  her  and 
go  meanderin'  off  down  a  path  to  the  rocks. 

A  little  while  later  I  happens  to  stroll  down 
to  the  summerhouse  with  the  Sunday  paper, 
and  as  I  steps  in  one  door  Charlie  and  Helen 
slip  out  by  the  other.  They'd  seen  me  first. 


92  ODD  NUMBERS 

"  Well,  well!  "  says  I.  "I  never  knew  be- 
fore how  unentertainin'  I  could  be." 

And  I  was  just  wonderin'  how  I  could  re- 
lieve my  feelin's  without  eatin'  a  fuzzy  worm, 
like  the  small  boy  that  nobody  loved,  when  I 
hears  footsteps  approachin'  through  the  shrub- 
b'ry.  I  looks  up,  to  find  myself  bein'  inspected 
by  a  weedy,  long  legged  youth.  He's  an  odd 
lookin'  kid,  with  dull  reddish  hair,  so  many 
freckles  that  his  face  looks  rusty,  and  a  pair 
of  big  purple  black  eyes  that  gazes  at  me 
serious. 

"  Well,  son/'  says  I,  "  where  did  you  drop 
from?  " 

"  My  name  is  Harold  Burbank  Fitzmorris," 
says  he,  "  and  I  am  visiting  with  my  mother 
on  the  adjoining  estate." 

"  That  sounds  like  a  full  description,  Har- 
old," says  I.  "  Did  you  stray  off,  or  was  you 
sent?  " 

"  I  trust  you  don't  mind,"  says  he;  "  but 
I  am  exploring." 

"  Explore  away  then,"  says  I,  "so  long  as 
you  don't  tramp  through  the  flowerbeds." 

"  Oh,  I  wouldn't  think  of  injuring  them," 
says  he.  ' '  I  am  passionately  fond  of  flowers. ' ' 

"  You  don't  say!  "  says  I. 

"  Yes,"  says  Harold,  droppin'  down  easy 
on  the  bench  alongside  of  me.  '  *  I  love  Nature 
in  all  her  moods.  I  am  a  poet,  you  know." 


PLAYING  HAEOLD  BOTH  WAYS      93 

"  Eh?  "  says  I.  "  Ain't  you  beginning  sort 
of  young!  ' 

"  Nearly  all  the  really  great  men  of  litera- 
ture," comes  back  Harold  as  prompt  as  if  he 
was  speakin'  a  piece,  "  have  begun  their  careers 
by  writing  verse.  I  presume  mine  might  be 
considered  somewhat  immature;  but  I  am  im- 
pelled from  within  to  do  it.  All  that  will  pass, 
however,  when  I  enter  on  my  serious  work." 

"  Oh,  then  you've  got  a  job  on  the  hook, 
have  you?  "  says  I. 

"  I  expect,"  says  Harold,  smilin'  sort  of 
indulgent  and  runnin'  his  fingers  careless 
through  his  thick  coppery  hair,  "  to  produce  my 
first  novel  when  I  am  twenty.  It  will  have  a 
somber  theme,  something  after  the  manner  of 
Turgenieff.  Do  you  not  find  Turgenieff  very 
stimulating?  " 

"  Harold,"  says  I,  *"  all  them  (Hungarian 
wines  are  more  or  less  heady,  and  a  kid  like 
you  shouldn't  monkey  with  any  of  'em." 

He  looks  almost  pained  at  that.  "  You're 
chaffing  me  now,  I  suppose,"  says  he.  "  That 
sort  of  thing,  though,  I  never  indulge  in.  Hu- 
mor, you  know,  is  but  froth  on  the  deep  seas 
of  thought.  It  has  never  seemed  to  me  quite 
worth  one 's  while.  You  will  pardon  my  frank- 
ness, I  know." 

11  Harold,"  says  I,  "  you're  a  wizard.  So 
it's  nix  on  the  josh,  eh?  " 


94  ODD  NUMBERS 

"  What  singular  metaphors  you  employ!  " 
says  he.  "  Do  you  know,  I  can  hardly  follow 
you.  However,  colloquial  language  does  not 
offend  my  ear.  It  is  only  when  I  see  it  in 
print  that  I  shudder. " 

"  Me  too,"  says  I.  "I'm  just  as  sore  on 
these  foreign  languages  as  anyone.  So  you're 
visitin'  next  door,  eh?  Enjoyin'  yourself?  " 

That  was  a  plain  cue  for  Harold  Burbank 
to  launch  out  on  the  story  of  his  life ;  but,  say, 
he  didn't  need  any  such  encouragement.  He 
was  a  willin'  and  ready  converser,  Harold  was; 
and — my! — what  a  lot  of  classy  words  he  did 
have  on  tap!  First  off  I  wondered  how  it 
was  a  youngster  like  him  could  dig  up  so  many; 
but  when  I'd  heard  a  little  more  about  him 
I  could  account  for  it  all. 

He'd  cut  his  teeth,  as  you  might  say,  on  the 
encyclopedia.  Harold's  father  had  been  a  pro- 
fessor of  dead  languages,  and  I  guess  he  must 
have  died  of  it.  Anyway,  Mother  was  a  widow, 
and  from  things  Harold  dropped  I  judged  she 
was  more  or  less  frisky,  spendin'  her  time  at 
bridge  and  chasin'  teas  and  dinner  parties.  It 
was  clear  she  wa'n't  any  highbrow,  such  as 
Father  must  have  been.  All  of  which  was  dis- 
appointin'  to  Harold.  He  made  no  bones  of 
sayin'  so. 

"  Why  pretend  to  approve  of  one's  parent," 
says  he,  "  when  approval  is  undeserved?  " 


PLAYING  HAROLD  BOTH  WAYS      95 

There  was  a  lot  of  other  folks  that  Harold 
disapproved  of  too.  In  fact,  he  was  a  mighty 
critical  youth,  only  bein'  able  to  entertain  a 
good  opinion  of  but  one  certain  party.  At  any 
other  time  I  expect  he'd  have  given  me  an 
earache;  but  I'd  been  handed  so  much  silence 
by  our  double  Borneo-Juliet  bunch  that  most 
any  kind  of  conversation  was  welcome  just 
then.  So  I  lets  him  spiel  away. 

And,  say,  he  acts  like  he  was  hungry  for  the 
chance.  Why,  he  gives  me  his  ideas  on  every 
subject  you  could  think  of,  from  the  way  Na- 
poleon got  himself  started  on  the  toboggan, 
to  the  folly  of  eatin'  fried  ham  for  breakfast. 
He  sure  was  a  wonder,  that  kid!  Two  solid 
hours  we  chinned  there  in  the  summerhouser 
and  it  was  almost  by  main  strength  I  broke 
away  for  a  one  o'clock  dinner. 

Then,  just  as  I'd  got  settled  comf 'table  on 
the  veranda  in  the  afternoon,  he  shows  up  and 
begins  again.  There  was  nothin'  diffident  or 
backward  about  Harold.  He  didn't  have  any 
doubts  about  whether  he  was  welcome  or  not, 
and  his  confidence  about  bein'  able  to  entertain 
was  amazin'. 

It  didn't  do  any  good  to  throw  out  hints  that 
perhaps  he  was  bein'  missed  at  home,  or  to 
yawn  and  pretend  you  was  sleepy.  He  was 
as  persistent  as  a  mosquito  singin'  its  evenin' 
song,  and  most  as  irritatin'.  Twice  I  gets  up 


96  ODD  NUMBEES 

and  pikes  off,  tryin'  to  shake  him;  but  Harold 
trails  right  along  too.  Maybe  I'd  yearned  for 
conversation.  Well,  I  was  gettin'  it. 

At  last  I  grows  desp'rate,  and  in  about  two 
minutes  more  he  would  have  been  led  home  to 
Mother  with  the  request  that  she  tether  him 
on  her  side  of  the  fence,  when  I  sees  two  of 
the  lovers  strollin'  off  to  find  a  nook  that  wa'n't 
preempted  by  the  other  pair.  And  all  of  a 
sudden  I  has  this  rosy  thought. 

"  Harold,"  says  I,  "  it's  most  too  bad,  your 
wastin'  all  this  flossy  talk  on  me,  who  can't 
appreciate  its  fine  points  as  I  should,  when 
there  go  some  young  people  who  might  be 
tickled  to  death  to  have  you  join  'em.  Sup- 
pose you  try  cheerin'  'emsupf  " 

"  Why,"  says  Harold,  "  I  had  not  observed 
them  before.  Thank  you  for  the  suggestion. 
I  will  join  them  at  once." 

Does  he?  Say,  for  the  next  couple  of  hours 
I  had  the  time  of  my  life  watchin'  the 
maneuvers.  First  off  I  expect  they  must  have 
thought  him  kind  of  cute,  same  as  I  did;  but 
it  wa'n't  long  before  they  begun  try  in'  to  lose 
him.  If  they  shifted  positions  once,  they  did 
a  dozen  times,  from  the  summerhouse  to  the 
rocks,  then  up  to  the  veranda  and  back  again, 
with  Harold  Burbank  taggin'  right  along  and 
spoutin'  his  best.  He  tackles  first  one  pair,  and 
then  the  other,  until  fin'lly  they  all  retreats 


PLAYING  HABOLD  BOTH  WAYS      97 

into  the  house.  Harold  hesitates  a  little  about 
walkin'  through  the  door  after  'em,  until  I 
waves  my  hand  cordial. 

"  Make  yourself  right  to  home,  Harold," 
says  I.  "  Keep  'em  cheered  up." 

Not  until  he  drives  the  girls  off  to  their  rooms 
and  has  Bobbie  and  Charles  glarin'  murderous 
at  him,  does  he  quit  the  sport  and  retire  for 
supper. 

"  Come  over  again  this  evenin',"  says  L. 
"  You're  makin'  a  hit." 

Harold  thanks  me  some  more  and  says  he 
will.  He's  a  great  one  to  keep  his  word  too, 
Bobbie  and  Marjorie  have  hardly  snuggled 
up  in  one  end  of  a  hammock  to  watch  the 
moon  do  things  to  the  wavelets  before  here  is 
Harold,  with  a  fresh  line  of  talk  that  he's  bent 
on  deliverin'  while  the  mood  is  on. 

Gettin'  no  answer  from  his  audience  didn't 
bother  him  a  bit;  for  passin'  out  the  monologue 
is  his  strong  suit.  Not  to  seem  partial,  he 
trails  down  Charlie  and  Helen  and  converses 
with  them  too.  Course,  all  this  occurrin*  out- 
side, I  couldn't  watch  everything  that  took 
place;  but  I  sits  in  the  lib'ry  with  Sadie  a 
lot  more  contented  than  I'd  been  before  that 
week. 

And  when  Marjorie  drifts  in  alone,  along 
about  nine  o'clock,  and  goes  to  drummin'  on 
the  piano,  I  smiles.  Ten  minutes  later  Helen 


98  ODD  NUMBERS 

appears  too;  and  it's  only  when  neither  of  the 
boys  show  up  that  I  begins  wonderin'.  I  asks 
no  questions;  but  goes  out  on  a  scoutin'  trip. 
There's  nobody  on  the  veranda  at  all.  Down 
by  the  waterfront,  though,  I  could  hear  voices, 
and  I  goes  sleuthin'  in  that  direction. 

"  Yes,"  I  could  hear  Harold  sayin'  as  I  got 
most  to  the  boat  landin',  "  the  phosphorescence 
that  ignorant  sailors  attribute  to  electricity  in 
the  air  is  really  a  minute  marine  animal 
which " 

I  expect  I'll  never  know  the  rest;  for  just 
then  there's  a  break  in  the  lecture. 

"  One,  two,  three — now!  "  comes  from  Bob- 
bie, and  before  Harold  can  let  out  a  single 
squeal  they've  grabbed  him  firm  and  secure, 
one  by  the  heels  and  the  other  by  the  collar, 
and  they've  begun  sousin'  him  up  and  down 
off  the  edge  of  the  float.  It  was  high  tide  too. 

"  Uggle-guggle !  "Wow!  "  remarks  Harold 
between  splashes. 

"  That's  right,"  observes  Charles  through 
his  teeth.  '  *  Swallow  a  lot  of  it,  you  windbag ! 
It'll  do  you  good." 

Course,  these  young  gents  was  guests  of  mine, 
and  I  hadn't  interfered  before  with  their  par- 
tic 'lar  way  of  enjoyin'  themselves ;  so  I  couldn't 
begin  now.  But  after  they  was  through,  and 
a  draggled,  chokin',  splutterin'  youth  had  gone 
beatin'  it  up  the  path  and  over  towards  the 


next  place,  I  strolls  down  to  meet  'em  as  they 
are  comin'  up  to  the  house. 

"  Hope  you  didn't  see  what  happened  down 
there  just  now,  Professor,"  says  Bobbie. 

"  Me?  "  says  I.  "  Well,  if  I  did  I  can  for- 
get it  quick." 

11  Thanks,  old  man!  "  says  both  of  'em,  pat- 
tin'  me  friendly  on  the  shoulder. 

"The  little  beast!"  adds  Charles.  "  He 
had  the  nerve  to  say  you  had  put  him  up  to  it. 
That's  what  finally  earned  him  his  ducking, 
you  know." 

"  Well,  well !  "  says  I.  "  Such  a  nice  spoken 
youngster  too!  ' 

"  Huh!  "  says  Bobbie.  "  I  suppose  there'll 
be  no  end  of  a  row  about  this  when  he  gets 
home  with  his  tale;  but  we'll  stand  for  it. 
Meanwhile  let's  go  up  and  get  the  girls  to  give 
us  some  music." 

Say,  I  don't  believe  Harold  ever  mentioned 
it  to  a  soul.  It's  a  funny  thing  too,  but  he 
hasn't  been  over  here  since.  And  someway, 
gettin'  better  acquainted  with  the  boys  in  that 
fashion,  made  it  pleasanter  all  round. 

But  no  more  entertainin'  lovers  for  us! 
Harolds  ain't  common  enough. 


CHAPTER  VII 

COBNELIA  SHOWS  SOME   CLASS 

"  OH,  by  the  way,  Shorty,"  says  Sadie  to  me 
the  other  mornin',  just  as  I'm  makin'  an  early 
getaway  for  town. 

"  Another  postscript,  eh?  "  says  I.  "  Well, 
let  it  come  over  speedy." 

11  It's  something  for  Mrs.  Purdy-Pell,"  says 
she.  "I'd  almost  forgotten." 

"Is  it  orderin'  some  fancy  groceries,  or 
sendin'  out  a  new  laundry  artist?  "  says  I. 
"  If  it  is,  why  I  guess  I  can " 

"  No,  no,"  says  Sadie,  givin'  my  tie  an  extra 
pat  and  brushin'  some  imaginary  dust  off  my 
coat  collar ;  "  it's  about  Cousin  Cornelia.  She's 
in  town,  you  know,  and  neither  of  the  Purdy- 
Pells  can  get  in  to  see  her  before  next  week 
on  account  of  their  garden  party,  and  Cornelia 
is  staying  at  a  hotel  alone,  and  they're  a  little 
anxious  about  her.  So  look  her  up,  won't  you! 
I  told  them  you  would.  You  don't  mind,  do 
you?  " 

"  Me?  "  says  I.  "  Why,  I've  been  waitin' 
for  this.  Makin'  afternoon  calls  on  weepy  old 
maids  is  my  specialty." 

100 


CORNELIA  SHOWS  SOME  CLASS    101 

"  There,  there!  "  says  Sadie,  folio  win'  me 
out  on  the  veranda.  "  Don't  play  the  martyr! 
Perhaps  Cornelia  isn't  the  most  entertaining 
person  in  the  world,  for  she  certainly  has  had 
her  share  of  trouble;  but  it  isn't  going  to  hurt 
you  merely  to  find  out  how  she  is  situated  and 
ask  if  you  can  be  of  any  help  to  her.  You 
know,  if  there  was  anything  she  could  do  for 
us,  she  would— 


t  i 


Oh,  sure!  "  says  I.  l  If  I'm  ever  brought 
home  on  a  shutter,  I  shall  look  for  Cornelia 
to  be  waitin'  on  the  mat  with  a  needle  and 
thread,  ready  to  sew  mournin'  bands  on  the 
help." 

That  seems  to  be  Cousin  Cornelia's  steady 
job  in  life,  tendin'  out  on  the  sick  and  being 
in  at  the  obsequies.  Anyway,  she's  been  at  it 
ever  since  we  knew  her.  She's  a  cousin  of 
Mr.  Purdy-Pell's,  and  his  branch  of  the  fam'ly, 
being  composed  mainly  of  antiques  and  chronic 
invalids,  has  been  shufflin'  off  in  one  way  or 
another  for  the  last  three  or  four  years  at 
the  rate  of  about  one  every  six  months. 

Course,  it  was  kind  of  sad  to  see  a  fam'ly 
peter  out  that  way;  but,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
most  of  'em  was  better  off.  At  first  the  Purdy- 
Pells  started  in  to  chop  all  their  social  dates 
for  three  months  after  each  sorrowful  event; 
but  when  they  saw  they  was  being  let  in  for 
a  continuous  performance,  they  sort  of  detailed 


102  ODD  NUMBERS 

Cousin  Cornelia  to  do  their  heavy  mournin'  and 
had  a  black  edge  put  on  their  stationery. 

Maybe  Cornelia  didn't  exactly  yearn  for  the 
portfolio ;  but  she  didn't  have  much  choice  about 
taking  it.  She  was  kind  of  a  hanger-on,  Cor- 
nelia was,  you  see,  and  she  was  used  to  going 
where  she  was  sent.  So  when  word  would  come 
that  Aunt  Mehitabel's  rheumatism  was  worse 
and  was  threatenin'  her  heart,  that  meant  a 
hurry  call  for  Cousin  Cornelia.  She'd  pack  a 
couple  of  suit  cases  full  of  black  skirts  and 
white  shirtwaists,  and  off  she'd  go,  not  showin' 
up  again  at  the  Purdy-Pells'  town  house  until 
Aunty  had  been  safely  planted  and  the  head- 
stone ordered. 

You  couldn't  say  but  what  she  did  it  thor- 
ough, too;  for  she'd  come  back  wearin'  a  long 
crape  veil  and  lookin'  pasty  faced  and  wore 
out.  Don't  know'  as  I  ever  saw  her  when  she 
wa'n't  either  just  comin'  from  where  there 'd 
been  a  funeral,  or  just  startin'  for  where  there 
was  likely  to  be  one. 

So  she  didn't  cut  much  of  a  figure  in  all 
the  gay  doin's  the  Purdy-Pells  was  always 
mixed  up  in.  And  yet  she  wasn't  such  a  kiln 
dried  prune  as  you  might  expect,  after  all. 
Bather  a  well  built  party,  Cornelia  was,  with 
a  face  that  would  pass  in  a  crowd,  and  a  sort  of 
longin'  twist  to  her  mouth  corners  as  if  she 
wanted  to  crack  a  smile  now  and  then,  pro- 


CORNELIA  SHOWS  SOME  CLASS    103 

vidin'  the  chance  would  only  come  her  way. 

And  it  wa'n't  hardly  a  square  deal  to  list 
her  with  the  U.B.'s  as  soon  as  we  did;  for 
all  this  time  she  was  doing  the  chief  mourner 
act  she  was  engaged  to  young  Durgin.  First 
off  it  was  understood  that  she  was  waitin'  for 
him  to  settle  on  whether  he  was  go  in'  to  be  a 
minister  or  a  doctor,  him  fiddlin'  round  at  col- 
lege, now  takin'  one  course  and  then  another; 
but  at  last  he  makes  up  his  mind  to  chuck  both 
propositions  and  take  a  hack  at  the  law. 

Durgin  got  there,  too,  which  was  more  or 
less  of  a  surprise  to  all  hands,  and  actually 
broke  in  as  partner  in  a  good  firm.  Then  it 
was  a  case  of  Durgin  waitin'  for  Cornelia;  for 
about  that  time  the  relations  got  to  droppin' 
off  in  one-two-three  order,  and  she  seemed  to 
think  that  so  long  as  she'd  started  in  on  the 
job  of  ridin'  in  the  first  carriage,  she  ought  to 
see  it  through. 

Whether  it  was  foolish  of  her  or  not,  ain't 
worth  while  debatin'  now.  Anyhow,  she  stuck 
to  it  until  the  last  one  had  cashed  in,  puttin' 
Durgin  off  from  month  to  month  and  year  to 
year.  Then  it  turns  out  that  the  last  of  the 
bunch,  Uncle  Theodore,  had  left  her  a  good- 
sized  wad  that  Purdy-Pell  had  always  sup- 
posed was  comin'  to  him,  but  which  he  didn't 
grudge  to  Cornelia  a  bit. 

So  there  she  was,  all  the  lingerin'  ones  off 


104  ODD  NUMBERS 

her  hands,  and  her  sportinr  a  bank  account  of 
her  own.  She's  some  tired  out,  though;  so, 
after  sendin'  Durgin  word  that  they  might  as 
well  wait  until  fall  now,  she  hikes  off  to  some 
little  place  in  New  Hampshire  and  spends  the 
summer  restin'  up.  Next  she  comes  down  un- 
expected and  hits  New  York. 

In  the  meantime,  though,  Durgin  has  sud- 
denly decided  to  scratch  his  entry  for  that 
partic'lar  Matrimonial  Handicap.  Not  that  he's 
seriously  int 'rested  in  somebody  else,  but  he's 
kind  of  got  weary  hangin'  around,  and  he's 
seen  a  few  livelier  ones  than  Cornelia,  and  he 
feels  that  somehow  him  and  her  have  made  a 
great  mistake.  You  know  how  they're  apt  to 
talk  when  they  get  chilly  below  the  ankles  I  He 
don't  hand  this  straight  out  to  Cornelia,  mind 
you,  but  goes  to .  Mrs.  Purdy-Pell  and  Sadie 
with  the  tale,  wantin'  to  know  what  he'd  better 
do. 

Now  I  ain't  got  any  grouch  against  Durgin. 
He's  all  right,  I  expect,  in  his  way,  more  or 
less  of  a  stiff  necked,  mealy  mouthed  chump, 
I  always  thought;  but  they  say  he's  nice  to 
his  old  mother,  and  he's  makin'  good  in  the 
law  business,  and  he  ain't  bad  to  look  at.  The 
women  folks  takes  his  side  right  off.  They  say 
they  don't  blame  him  a  bit,  and,  without 
stoppin'  to  think  how  Cousin  Cornelia  is  going 
to  feel  left  alone  there  on  the  siding,  they  get 


CORNELIA  SHOWS  SOME  CLASS    105 

busy  pickin'  out  new  candidates  for  Durgin 
to  choose  from. 

Well,  that's  the  situation  when  I'm  handed 
this  assignment  to  go  and  inspect  the  head  of 
the  Purdy-Pells'  obituary  department  and  see 
if  she's  all  comfy.  Couldn't  have  weighed  very 
heavy  on  my  mind;  for  I  don't  think  of  it  until 
late  afternoon,  just  as  I'm  startin'  to  pull  out 
for  home.  Then  I  says  to  myself  that  maybe 
it'll  do  just  as  well  if  I  ring  her  up  on  the 
'phone  at  her  hotel.  She's  in,  all  right,  and  I 
explains  over  the  wire  how  anxious  I  am  to 
know  if  she's  all  right,  and  hopes  nobody  has 
tried  to  kidnap  her  yet,  and  asks  if  there's  any- 
thing I  can  do. 

"  Why,  how  kind  of  you,  Mr.  McCabe !  "  says 
Cornelia,  * '  Yes,  I  am  perfectly  well  and  quite 
safe  here." 

"  Good !  "  says  I.  And  then,  seein'  how  easy 
I  was  gettin'  out  of  it,  I  has  to  pile  on  the 
agony  a  little  by  addin',  "  Ain't  there  some  way 
I  can  be  useful,  though?  No  errands  you  want 
done,  or  any  place  you'd  like  to  be  towed  around 
to,  ehf  " 

"  Why — why '  says  she,  hesitatin'. 

"  Oh,  but  I  couldn't  think  of  troubling  you,  you 
know. ' ' 

11  Why  not?  "  says  I,  gettin'  reckless.  "  Just 
remember  that  I'd  be  tickled  to  death,  any  time 
you  push  the  button." 


106  ODD  NUMBERS 

"  We-e-ell,"  says  she,  "  we  were  just  wish- 
ing, Miss  Stover  and  I,  that  we  did  have  some 
gentleman  friend  who  would " 

"  Count  me  in,"  says  I.  "  What's  the 
game?  Trip  to  Woodlawn  Cemetery  some  day, 
or  do  you  want  to  be  piloted  up  to  Grant's 
Tomb?  " 

No,  it  wa'n't  either  of  them  festive  splurges 
she  had  in  mind.  They  wanted  a  dinner  escort 
for  that  evenin',  she  and  Miss  Stover.  The 
other  lady,  she  goes  on  to  say,  is  a  school  teacher 
from  up  Boston  way,  that  she'd  made  friends 
with  durin'  the  summer.  Miss  Stover  was 
takin'  a  year  off,  for  the  benefit  of  her  nerves, 
and  before  she  sailed  on  her  Cook's  trip  abroad 
she  thought  she'd  like  to  see  a  little  of  New 
York.  They'd  been  tryin'  to  knock  around 
some  alone,  and  had  got  along  all  right  day- 
times, but  hadn't  dared  venture  out  much  at 
night.  So  if  I  wanted  to  be  real  generous,  and 
it  wouldn't  be  too  much  of  a  bore,  they'd  be 
very  thankful  if  I  would 

"  In  a  minute,"  says  I  and,  seem'  I  was  up 
against  it  anyhow,  I  thought  I  might  as  well 
do  it  cheerful.  "  I'll  be  up  about  six,  eh?  " 

11  Chee!  "  says  Swifty  Joe,  who  always  has 
his  ear  stretched  out  on  such  occasions,  "  you 
make  a  noise  like  you  was  fixin'  up  a  date." 

"What  good  hearin*  you  have,  Swifty!" 
says  L  "  Some  day,  though,  you'll  strain  one 


of  them  side  flaps  of  yours.  Yes,  this  is  a  date, 
and  it's  with  two  of  the  sportiest  female  parties 
that  ever  dodged  an  old  ladies'  home." 

Excitin'  proposition,  wa'n't  it?  I  spends  the 
next  half -hour  battin'  my  head  to  think  of  some 
first  class  food  parlor  where  I  could  cart  a 
couple  like  this  Boston  schoolma'am  and  Cousin 
Cornelia  without  shockin'  'em.  There  was  the 
Martha  Washington;  but  I  knew  I'd  be  barred 
there.  Also  there  was  some  quiet  fam'ly  hotels 
I'd  heard  of  up  town;  but  I  couldn't  remember 
exactly  what  street  any  of  'em  was  on. 

"  Maybe  Cornelia  will  have  some  plans  of 
her  own,"  thinks  I,  as  I  gets  into  my  silk  faced 
dinner  jacket  and  V-cut  vest.  "  And  I  hope 
she  ain't  wearin'  more'n  two  thicknesses  of 
crape  veil  now." 

Well,  soon  after  six  I  slides  out,  hops  on  one 
of  these  shed-as-you-enter  surface  cars,  and 
rides  up  to  the  hotel.  I'd  been  holdin'  down 
one  of  the  velvet  chairs  in  the  ladies'  parlor 
for  near  half  an  hour,  and  was  wonderin'  if 
Cornelia  had  run  out  of  black  headed  pins,  or 
what,  when  I  pipes  off  a  giddy  specimen  in 
wistaria  costume  that  drifts  in  and  begins 
squintin'  around  like  she  was  huntin'  for  some 
one.  Next  thing  I  knew  she'd  spotted  me  and 
was  sailin'  right  over. 

"  Oh,  there  you  are!  "  she  gurgles,  holdin' 
out  her  hand. 


108  ODD  NUMBERS 

"  Excuse  me,  lady,"  says  I,  sidesteppin'  be- 
hind the  chair,  "  but  ain't  you  tryin'  to  tag 
the  wrong  party?  ' 

"  Why,"  says  she,  lettin'  out  a  chuckle, 
"  don't  you  know  me,  Mr.  McCabe?  " 

"  Not  yet,"  says  I;  "  but  it  looks  like  I 
would  if •  Great  snakes!  ' 

And  honest,  you  could  hardly  have  covered 
my  face  cavity  with  a  waffle  iron  when  I  drops 
to  the  fact  that  it's  Cousin  Cornelia.  In  place 
of  the  dismal  female  I'd  been  expectin',  here's 
a  chirky  party  in  vivid  regalia  that  shows  class 
in  every  line.  Oh,  it's  a  happy  days  uniform, 
all  right,  from  the  wide  brimmed  gauze  lid 
with  the  long  heliotrope  feather  trailin'  over 
one  side,  to  the  lavender  kid  pumps. 

"  Gee!  "  I  gasps.  "  The  round  is  on  me, 
Miss  Cornelia.  -But  I  wa'n't  lookin'  for  you 
in — in " 

"  I  know,"  says  she.  "  This  is  the  first  time 
I've  worn  colors  for  years,  and  I  feel  so  odd. 
I  hope  I  don't  look  too " 

11  You  look  all  to  the  skookum,"  says  I. 

It  wa'n't  any  jolly,  either.  There  never  was 
any  real  sharp  angles  to  Cornelia,  and  now  I 
come  to  reckon  up  I  couldn't  place  her  as 
more'n  twenty-six  or  twenty-seven  at  the  out- 
side. So  why  shouldn't  she  show  up  fairly 
well  in  a  Gibson  model? 

"  It's  so  good  of  you  to  come  to  our  rescue," 


COBNELIA  SHOWS  SOME  CLASS    109 

says  she.  "  Miss  Stover  will  be  down  pres- 
ently. Now,  where  shall  we  go  to  dinner?  ' 

Well,  I  see  in  a  minute  I've  got  to  revise 
my  plans;  so  I  begins  namin'  over  some  of  the 
swell  grillrooms  and  cafes. 

"  Oh,  we  have  been  to  most  of  those,  all  by 
ourselves,"  says  Cornelia.  "  What  we  would 
like  to  see  to-night  is  some  real — well,  a  place 
where  we  couldn't  go  alone,  out  somewhere — an 
automobile  resort,  for  instance." 

"  Whe-e-ew!  '  says  I  through  my  front 
teeth.  "  Say,  Miss  Cornie,  but  you  are  gettin* 
out  of  the  bereft  class  for  fair!  I  guess  it's 
comin'  to  you,  though.  Now  jest  let  me  get 
an  idea  of  how  far  you  want  to  go." 

"  Why,"  says  she,  shruggin'  her  shoulders, — 
"  how  is  it  you  put  such  things? — the  limit,  I 
suppose? ' 

"  Honest?"  says  I.  "Then  how  about 
Clover  Blossom  Inn?  ' 

Heard  about  that  joint,  haven't  you?  Of 
course.  There's  a  lot  of  joy-ride  tank  stations 
strung  along  Jerome-ave.  and  the  Yonkers 
road;  but  when  it  comes  to  a  genuine  tabasco 
flavored  chorus  girls'  rest,  the  Clover  Blossom 
has  most  of  the  others  lookin'  like  playgrounds 
for  little  mothers.  But  Cornie  don't  do  any 
dodgin'. 

"  Fine!  "  says  she.  "  I've  read  about  that 
inn."  Then  she  hurries  on  to  plan  out  the  de- 


110  ODD  NUMBERS 

tails.  I  must  go  over  to  Times  Square  and 
hire  a  nice  looking  touring  car  for  the  evening. 
And  I  mustn't  let  Miss  Stover  know  how  much 
it  costs;  for  Cornelia  wants  to  do  that  part  of 
it  by  her  lonely. 

"  The  dinner  we  are  to  go  shares  on,"  says 
she. 

"  Couldn't  think  of  it,"  says  I.  "  Let  that 
stand  as  my  blow." 

"  No,  indeed,"  says  Cornelia.  "  We  have 
the  money  all  put  aside,  and  I  sha'n't  like  it. 
Here  it  is,  and  I  want  you  to  be  sure  you  spend 
the  whole  of  it,"  and  with  that  she  shoves  over 
a  couple  of  fives. 

I  couldn't  help  grinnin'  as  I  takes  it.  Maybe 
you've  settled  a  dinner  bill  for  three  and  a 
feed  for  the  shofer  at  the  Clover  Blossom; 
but  not  with  a  ten-spot,  eh? 

And  while  Cornelia  is  goin'  back  in  the  ele- 
vator after  the  schoolma'am,  I  scoots  over  to 
get  a  machine.  After  convincin'  two  or  three 
of  them  leather  capped  pirates  that  I  didn't 
want  to  buy  their  blamed  outfits,  I  fin'lly  beats 
one  down  to  twenty-five  and  goes  back  after 
the  ladies. 

Miss  Stover  don't  turn  out  to  be  any  such 
star  as  Cornelia ;  but  she  don't  look  so  much  like 
a  suffragette  as  I  expected.  She's  plump,  and 
middle  aged,  and  plain  dressed;  but  there's 
more  or  less  style  to  the  way  she  carries  her- 


CORNELIA  SHOWS  SOME  CLASS    111 

self.  Also  she  has  just  a  suspicion  of  eye 
twinkle  behind  the  glasses,  which  suggests  that 
perhaps  some  of  this  programme  is  due  to 
her. 

"  All  aboard  for  the  Clover  Blossom!  "  says 
I,  handin'  'em  into  the  tonneau;  "  that  is,  as 
soon  as  I  run  in  here  to  the  telephone  booth." 

It  had  come  to  me  only  at  that  minute  what 
a  shame  it  was  this  stunt  of  Cornelia's  was 
goin'  to  be  wasted  on  an  audience  that  couldn't 
appreciate  the  fine  points,  and  I'd  thought  of  a 
scheme  that  might  supply  the  gap.  So  I  calls 
up  an  old  friend  of  mine  and  has  a  little  confab. 

By  the  time  we'd  crossed  the  Harlem  and 
had  got  straightened  out  on  the  parkway  with 
our  gas  lamps  lighted,  and  the  moon  comin' 
up  over  the  trees,  and  hundreds  of  other  cars 
whizzin'  along  in  both  directions,  Cornelia  and 
her  schoolma'am  friend  was  chatterin'  away 
like  a  couple  of  boardin'  school  girls.  There's 
no  denyin '  that  it  does  get  into  your  blood,  that 
sort  of  ridin'.  Why,  even  I  begun  to  feel  some 
frisky ! 

And  look  at  Cornelia!  For  years  she'd  been 
givin'  directions  about  where  to  put  the  floral 
wreaths,  and  listenin'  to  wills  being  read,  and 
all  summer  long  she'd  been  buried  in  a  little 
backwoods  boardin'  house,  where  the  most  ex- 
citin'  event  of  the  day  was  watchin'  the  cows 
come  home,  or  going  down  for  the  mail.  Can 


112  ODD  NUMBEES 

you  blame  her  for  workin'  up  a  cheek  flush  and 
rattlin'  off  nonsense! 

Clover  Blossom  Inn  does  look  fine  and  fancy 
at  night,  too,  with  all  the  colored  lights  strung 
around,  and  the  verandas  crowded  with  tables, 
and  the  Gypsy  orchestra  sawin'  away,  and  new 
parties  landin'  from  the  limousines  every  few 
minutes.  Course,  I  knew  they'd  run  against 
perfect  ladies  hittin'  up  cocktails  and  cigarettes 
in  the  cloak  room,  and  hear  more  or  less  high 
spiced  remarks;  but  this  was  what  they'd 
picked  out  to  view. 

So  I  orders  the  brand  of  dinner  the  waiter 
hints  I  ought  to  have, — little  necks,  okra  soup, 
broiled  lobster,  guinea  hen,  and  so  on,  with  a 
large  bottle  of  fizz  decoratin'  the  silver  tub  on 
the  side  and  some  sporty  lookin'  mineral  for 
me.  It  don't  make  any  difference  whether 
you've  got  a  wealthy  water  thirst  or  not,  when 
you  go  to  one  of  them  tootsy  palaces  you  might 
just  as  well  name  your  vintage  first  as  last; 
for  any  cheap  skates  of  suds  consumers  is  apt 
to  find  that  the  waiter's  made  a  mistake  and 
their  table  has  been  reserved  for  someone  else. 

But  if  you  don't  mind  payin'  four  prices,  and 
can  stand  the  comp'ny  at  the  adjoinin'  tables, 
just  being  part  of  the  picture  and  seeing  it 
from  the  inside  is  almost  worth  the  admission. 
If  there's  any  livelier  purple  spots  on  the  map 
than  these  gasolene  road  houses  from  eight- 


CORNELIA  SHOWS  SOME  CLASS    113 

thirty  p.  M.  to  two-thirty  in  the  mornin',  I'll  let 
you  name  'em. 

Cornelia  rather  shies  at  the  sight  of  the  fat 
bottle  peekin'  out  of  the  cracked  ice;  but  she 
gets  over  that  feelin'  after  Miss  Stover  has 
expressed  her  sentiments. 

"  Champagne!  '  says  the  schoolma'am. 
1 '  Oh,  how  perfectly  delightful !  Do  you  know, 
I  always  have  wanted  to  know  how  it  tasted." 

Say,  she  knows  all  about  it  now.  Not  that 
she  put  away  any  more'n  a  lady  should, — at 
the  Clover  Blossom, — but  she  had  tackled  a  dry 
Martini  first,  and  then  she  kept  on  tastin'  and 
tastin'  her  glass  of  fizz,  and  the  waiter  keeps 
fillin'  it  up,  and  that  twinkle  in  her  eye  de- 
velops more  and  more,  and  her  conversation 
gets  livelier  and  livelier.  So  does  Cornelia's. 
They  gets  off  some  real  bright  things,  too. 
You'd  never  guess  there  was  so  much  fun  in 
Cornie,  or  that  she  could  look  so  much  like  a 
stunner. 

She  was  just  leanin'  over  to  whisper  some- 
thing to  me  about  the  peroxide  puffed  girl  at 
the  next  table,  and  I  was  tryin'  to  stand  bein' 
tickled  in  the  neck  by  that  long  feather  of  hers 
while  I  listens,  and  Miss  Stover  was  snuggled 
up  real  chummy  on  the  other  side,  when  I  looks 
up  the  aisle  and  sees  a  little  group  watchin* 
us  with  their  mouths  open  and  their  eyebrows 
up. 


114  ODD  NUMBERS 

Leadin'  the  way  is  Pinckney.  Oh,  he'd  done 
his  part,  all  right,  just  as  I'd  told  him  over  the 
wire;  for  right  behind  him  is  Durgin,  starin' 
at  Cornelia  until  he  was  pop  eyed. 

But  that  wa'n't  all.  Trust  Pinckney  to  add 
something.  Beyond  Durgin  is  Mrs.  Purdy- 
Pell — and  Sadie.  Now,  I've  seen  Mrs.  Mc- 
Cabe  when  she's  been  some  jarred;  but  I  don't 
know  as  I  ever  watched  the  effect  of  such  a  jolt 
as  this.  You  see,  Cornelia's  back  was  to  her, 
and  all  Sadie  can  see  is  that  wistaria  lid  with 
the  feather  danglin'  down  my  neck. 

Sadie  don't  indulge  in  any  preliminaries. 
She  marches  right  along,  with  her  chin  in  the 
air,  and  glues  them  Irish  blue  eyes  of  hers  on 
me  in  a  way  I  can  feel  yet.  "  Well,  I  must 
say!  "  says  she. 

"  Eh?  "  says  I,  tryin'  hard  to  put  on  a  pleased 
grin.  "  So  Pinckney  brought  you  along  too, 
did  he?  Lovely  evenin',  ain't  it?  ' 

"  "Why,  Sadi??  "  says  Cornelia,  jumpin*  up 
and  givin7  'em  a  full  face  view.  And  you 
should  have  seen  how  that  knocks  the  wind  out 
of  Sadie. 

"Wha-a-at!"  says   she.     "  You?  " 

11  Of  course,"  says  Cornie.  "  And  we're 

just  having  the  grandest  lark,  and Oh! 

Why,  Durgin!  Where  in  the  world  did  you 
come  from?  How  jolly!  " 


CORNELIA  SHOWS  SOME  CLASS    115 

"  Ain't  it?  "  says  I.  "  You  see,  Sadie,  I'm 
carryin'  out  instructions." 

Well,  the  minute  she  gets  wise  that  it's  all  a 
job  that  Pinckney  and  I  have  put  up  between 
us,  and  discovers  that  my  giddy  \ookin'  friend 
is  only  Cousin  Cornelia  doin'  the  butterfly  act, 
the  thunder  storm  is  all  over.  The  waiter 
shoves  up  another  table,  and  they  plants  Dur- 
gin  next  to  Cornie,  and  the  festivities  takes  a 
new  start. 

Did  Durgin  boy  forget  all  about  them  chilly 
feet  of  his?  Why,  you  could  almost  see  the 
frost  startin'  out  before  he'd  said  a  dozen 
words,  and  by  the  time  he'd  let  the  whole  effect 
sink  in,  he  was  no  nearer  contractin'  chilblains 
than  a  Zulu  with  his  heels  in  the  campfire. 

What  pleases  me  most,  though,  was  the  sci- 
entific duck  I  made  in  the  last  round.  We'd 
gone  clear  through  the  menu,  and  they  was 
nnishin'  up  their  cordials,  when  I  spots  the 
waiter  comin'  with  a  slip  of  paper  on  his  tray 
as  long  as  a  pianola  roll. 

"  Hey,  Pinckney,"  says  I,  "  see  what's 
comin'  now!  ': 

And  when  Pinckney  reached  around  and  dis- 
covers what  it  is,  he  digs  down  for  his  roll 
like  a  true  sport,  never  battin'  an  eyelash. 

* '  You  would  ring  in  the  f am  'ly  on  me,  would 
you,"  says  I,  "  when  I'm  showin'  lady  friends 
the  sights?  " 


CHAPTER 


DOPING  OUT  AN  ODD  ONE 

SAY,  notice  any  deep  sea  roll  about  my  walk? 
No?  Well,  maybe  you  can  get  the  tarry  per- 
fume as  I  pass  by!  Funny  you  don't;  for  I've 
been  a  Vice  Commodore  for  most  three  weeks 
now.  Yes,  that's  on  the  level  —  belay  my  spin- 
naker taffrail  if  it  ain't! 

That's  what  I  get  for  bein'  one  of  the  charter 
members  of  the  Eockhurst  Yacht  Club.  You 
didn't,  eh?  Well,  say,  I'm  one  of  the  yachtiest 
yachters  that  ever  jibbed  a  gangway.  Not  that 
I  do  any  sailin'  exactly;  but  I  guess  Sadie  and 
me  each  paid  good  money  for  our  shares  of 
club  stock,  and  if  that  ain't  as  foolish  an  act 
as  you  can  find  in  the  nautical  calendar,  then 
I'll  eat  the  binnacle  boom. 

Course,  this  Vice  Commodore  stunt  was  sort 
of  sprung  on  me;  for  I'd  been  such  an  active 
member  I  didn't  even  know  the  bloomin'  club- 
house was  finished  until  here  the  other  day 
I  gets  this  bulletin  from  the  annual  meetin', 
along  with  the  programme  for  the  openin'  ex- 
ercises. 

116 


DOPING  OUT  AN  ODD  ONE        117 

"  Gee!  "  says  I.  "  Vice  Commodore!  Say, 
there  must  be  some  mistake  about  this." 

"  Not  at  all,"  says  Sadie. 

"  Sure  there  is,"  says  I.  "  Why,  I  hardly 
know  one  end  of  a  boat  from  the  other;  and 
besides  I  ain't  got  any  clubby  habits.  They've 
been  let  in  wrong,  that's  all.  I'll  resign." 

"  You'll  do  nothing  of  the  sort!  "  says  Sadie. 
"  When  I  took  all  that  trouble  to  have  you  win 
over  that  ridiculous  Bronson-Smith !  " 

"  Eh?  "  says  I.  "  Been  playin'  the  Mrs. 
Taft,  have  you?  In  that  case,  I  expect  I'll 
have  to  stay  with  it.  But,  honest,  you  can 
look  for  a  season  of  perfectly  punk  Vice  Com- 
modorinV 

As  it  turns  out,  though,  there  ain't  one  in 
ten  members  that  knows  much  more  about 
yachtin'  than  I  do.  Navigatin'  porch  rockers, 
orderin'  all  hands  up  for  fancy  drinks,  and 
conductin'  bridge  whist  regattas  was  their  chief 
sea-go  in'  accomplishments;  and  when  it  come 
to  makin'  myself  useful,  who  was  it,  I'd  like 
to  know,  that  chucked  the  boozy  steward  off 
the  float  when  he  had  two  of  the  house  com- 
mittee treed  up  the  signal  mast! 

I  suspect  that's  how  it  is  I'm  played  up  so 
prominent  for  this  house  warmin'  episode. 
Anyway,  when  I  arrives  there  on  the  great 
night — me  all  got  up  fancy  in  a  double  breasted 
serge  coat,  white  flannel  pants,  and  cork  soled 


118  ODD  NUMBERS 

canvas  shoes — I  finds  they've  put  me  on  the 
reception  committee;  and  that,  besides  wel- 
comin'  invited  guests,  I'm  expected  to  keep  one 
eye  peeled  for  outsiders,  to  see  that  nobody 
starts  nothin'. 

So  I'm  on  deck,  as  you  might  say,  and  more 
or  less  conspicuous,  when  this  Larchmont  dele- 
gation is  landed  and  comes  stringin'  up.  It 
was  ' '  Ahoy  there,  Captain  This !  ' '  and  * '  How 
are  you,  Captain  That?  "  from  the  rest  of  the 
committee,  who  was  some  acquainted;  and  me 
buttin'  around  earnest  tryin'  to  find  someone 
to  shake  hands  with,  when  I  runs  across  this 
thick  set  party  in  the  open  front  Tuxedo  re- 
galia, with  his  opera  hat  down  over  one  eye 
and  a  long  cigar  raked  up  coquettish  from  the 
sou 'west  corner  of  his  face. 

Know  him?  1 -guess !  It's  Peter  K.  Tracey ; 
yes,  the  one  that  has  his  name  on  so  many 
four-sheet  posters.  Noticed  how  he  always  has 
'em  read,  ain't  you?  "  Mr.  Peter  K.  Tracey 
presents  Booth  Keene,  the  sterling  young 
actor."  Never  forgets  that  "  Mr.";  but,  say, 
I  knew  him  when  he  signed  it  just  "  P.  Tracey," 
and  chewed  his  tongue  some  at  gettin'  that 
down. 

Them  was  the  days  when  he'd  have  jumped 
at  the  chance  of  managin'  my  ring  exhibits, 
and  he  was  known  in  sportin'  circles  as  Chunk 
Tracey.  I  ain't  followed  all  his  moves  since 


DOPING  OUT  AN  ODD  ONE        119 

then;  but  I  know  he  got  to  handlin'  the  big 
heavyweights  on  exhibition  tours,  broke  into 
the  theatrical  game  with  an  animal  show  that 
was  a  winner,  and  has  stuck  to  the  boxoffice 
end  ever  since. 

Why  shouldn't  he,  with  a  half  ownership  in 
a  mascot  Eube  drama  that  never  has  less  than 
six  road  companies  playin'  it,  and  at  least  one 
hit  on  Broadway  every  season!  I  admit  I  was 
some  surprised,  though,  to  hear  of  him  buyin' 
a  house  on  Fifth-ave.  and  makin'  a  stab  at 
mixin'  in  society.  That  last  I  could  hardly 
believe;  but  here  he  was,  and  lookin'  as  much 
jarred  at  findin'  me  as  I  was  to  see  him. 

"  Well,  I'll  be  hanged!  "  says  I.  "  Chunk 
Tracey!  " 

' '  Why,  hello,  Shorty !  ' '  says  he,  and  neither 
one  of  us  remembers  the  t '  Charmed  to  see  yuh, 
old  chappy  "  lines  we  should  have  been  shootin' 
off.  Seems  he  'd  been  towed  along  with  a  bunch 
of  near-swells  that  didn't  dare  treat  him  as  if 
he  really  belonged,  and  he  was  almost  frothin' 
at  the  mouth. 

"  Talk  about  your  society  folks!  "  says  he. 
' '  Why, — blankety  blank  'em ! — I  can  go  down 
the  Rialto  any  afternoon,  pick  up  a  dozen  people 
at  twenty-five  a  week,  drill  'em  four  days,  and 
give  a  better  imitation  than  this  crowd  ever 
thought  of  putting  up !  ' : 

Yes ;  but  look  who  you  are,  Chunk,"  says  I. 


tt 


120  ODD  NUMBERS 

"  I  know,"  says  he. 

And  he  meant  it  too.  He  always  was  about 
the  cockiest  little  rooster  in  the  business;  but 
I'd  rather  expected  eight  or  ten  years  of  ups 
and  downs  in  the  theatrical  game,  bein'  thrown 
out  of  the  trust  and  crawlin'  back  on  his  knees 
would  have  tempered  him  down  some. 

You  couldn't  notice  it,  though.  In  fact,  this 
chesty,  cocksure  attitude  seemed  to  have  grown 
on  him,  and  it  was  plain  that  most  of  his  sore- 
ness just  now  come  from  findin'  himself  in  with 
a  lot  of  folks  that  didn't  take  any  special  pains 
to  admit  what  a  great  man  he  was.  So,  as 
him  and  me  was  sort  of  left  to  flock  by  our- 
selves, I  undertook  the  job  of  supplyin'  a  few 
soothin'  remarks,  just  for  old  time's  sake.  And 
that's  how  it  was  he  got  rung  in  on  this  little 
mix-up  with  Cap'n  Spiller. 

You  see,  the  way  the  committee  had  mapped 
it  out,  part  of  the  doin's  was  a  grand  illumina- 
tion of  the  fleet.  Anyway,  they  had  all  the 
craft  they  could  muster  anchored  in  a  semi- 
circle off  the  end  of  the  float  and  trimmed  up 
with  Japanese  lanterns.  Well,  just  about  time 
for  lightin'  up,  into  the  middle  of  the  fleet 
comes  driftin'  a  punk  lookin'  old  sloop  with 
dirty,  patched  sails,  some  shirts  and  things 
hangin'  from  the  riggin',  and  a  length  of  stove- 
pipe stickin'  through  the  cabin  roof.  When 
the  skipper  has  struck  the  exact  center,  he 


DOPING  OUT  AN  ODD  ONE        121 

throws  over  his  mud  hook  and  lets  his  sail 
run. 

Not  bein'  posted  on  the  details,  I  didn't  know 
but  that  was  part  of  the  show,  until  the  chair- 
man of  my  committee  comes  rushin'  up  to  me 
all  excited,  and  points  it  out. 

"  Oh,  I  say,  McCabe!  "  says  he.  "  Do  you 
see  that?  " 

"  If  I  didn't,"  says  I,  "  I  could  almost  smell 
it  from  here.  Some  new  member,  is  it?  ' 

"Member!"  he  gasps.  "Why,  it's  some 
dashed  old  fisherman!  We — we  cawn't  have 
him  stay  there,  you  know." 

"Well,"  says  I,  "he  seems  to  be  gettin' 
plenty  of  advice  on  that  point."  And  he  was; 
for  they  was  shoutin'  things  at  him  through 
a  dozen  megaphones. 

* '  But  you  know,  McCabe, ' '  goes  on  the  chair- 
man, "  you  ought  to  go  out  and  send  him 
away.  That's  one  of  your  duties." 

"  Eh?  "  says  I.  "  How  long  since  I've  been 
official  marine  bouncer  for  this  organization? 
G  'wan !  Go  tell  him  yourself !  ' : 

We  had  quite  an  argument  over  it  too,  with 
Peter  K.  chimin'  in  on  my  side;  but,  while 
the  chappy  insists  that  it's  my  job  to  fire  the 
old  hooker  off  the  anchorage,  I  draws  the  line 
at  inter ferin'  with  anything  beyond  the  shore. 
Course,  it  might  spoil  the  effect ;  but  the  way  it 
struck  me  was  that  we  didn't  own  any  more  of 


122  ODD  NUMBEKS 

Long  Island  Sound  than  anyone  else,  and  I 
says  so  flat. 

That  must  have  been  how  the  boss  of  the 
old  sloop  felt  about  it  too;  for  he  don't  pay 
any  attention  to  the  howls  or  threats.  He  just 
makes  things  snug  and  then  goes  below  and 
starts  pokin'  about  in  his  dinky  little  cabin. 
Judgin'  by  the  motions,  he  was  gettin'  a  late 
supper. 

Anyway,  they  couldn't  budge  him,  even 
though  half  the  club  was  stewin'  about  it.  And, 
someway,  that  seemed  to  tickle  Chunk  and  me 
a  lot.  We  watched  him  spread  his  grub  out 
on  the  cabin  table,  roll  up  his  sleeves,  and 
square  away  like  he  had  a  good  appetite,  just 
as  if  he'd  been  all  by  himself,  instead  of  right 
here  in  the  midst  of  so  many  flossy  yachtsmen. 

He  even  had  music  to  eat  by ;  for  part  of  the 
programme  was  the  turnin'  loose  of  one  of  these 
high  priced  cabinet  disk  machines,  that  was  on 
the  Commodore's  big  schooner,  and  feedin'  it 
with  Caruso  and  Melba  records.  There  was 
so  much  chatterin'  goin'  on  around  us  on  the 
verandas,  and  so  many  corks  poppin'  and 
glasses  clinkin',  that  the  skipper  must  have  got 
more  benefit  from  the  concert  than  anyone  else. 
At  last  he  wipes  his  mouth  on  his  sleeve  care- 
ful, fills  his  pipe,  and  crawls  out  on  deck  to 
enjoy  the  view. 

It  was  well  worth  lookin'  at  too;  for,  al- 


DOPING  OUT  AN  ODD  ONE        123 

though  there  was  most  too  many  clouds  for 
the  moon  to  do  much  execution,  here  was  all 
the  yachts  lighted  up,  and  the  clubhouse  blazin' 
and  gay,  and  the  water  lappin'  gentle  in  be- 
tween. He  gazes  out  at  it  placid  for  a  minute 
or  so,  and  then  we  see  him  dive  down  into  the 
cabin.  He  comes  back  with  something  or  other 
that  we  couldn't  make  out,  and  the  next  thing 
I  knows  I  finds  myself  keepin'  time  with  my 
foot  to  one  of  them  lively,  swingin'  old  tunes 
which  might  have  been  "  The  Campbells  Are 
Coming  ' '  or  might  not ;  but  anyway  it  was 
enough  to  give  you  that  tingly  sensation  in 
your  toes.  And  it  was  proceedin'  from  the 
after  deck  of  that  old  hulk. 

"  Well,  well!  "  says  I.    "  Bagpipes!  " 

"  Bagpipes  be  blowed!  "  says  Chunk. 
"  That's  an  accordion  he's  playing.  Listen!  " 

Say,  I  was  listenin',  and  with  both  ears. 
Also  other  folks  was  beginnin'  to  do  the  same. 
Inside  of  five  minutes,  too,  all  the  chatter  has 
died  down,  and  as  I  glanced  around  at  the 
tables  I  could  see  that  whole  crowd  of  fancy 
dressed  folks  noddin'  and  beatin'  time  with 
their  fans  and  cigars  and  fizz  glasses.  Even 
the  waiters  was  standin'  still,  or  tiptoin'  so's 
to  take  it  in. 

Ever  hear  one  of  them  out-of-date  music 
bellows  handled  by  a  natural  born  artist  ?  Say, 
I've  always  been  partial  to  accordions  myself, 


124  ODD  NUMBERS 

though  I  never  had  the  courage  to  own  up  to 
it  in  public;  but  this  was  the  first  time  I'd  ever 
heard  one  pumped  in  that  classy  fashion. 

Music!  Why,  as  he  switches  off  onto  "  The 
Old  Folks  at  Home,"  you'd  thought  there  was 
a  church  organ  and  a  full  orchestra  out  there! 
Maybe  comin'  across  the  water  had  something 
to  do  with  it;  but  hanged  if  it  wa'n't  great! 
And  of  all  the  fine  old  tunes  he  gave  us — 
"  Nellie  Gray,"  "  Comin'  Through  the  Eye," 
* '  Annie  Laurie, ' '  and  half  a  dozen  more. 

"  Chunk,"  says  I,  as  the  concert  ends  and 
the  folks  begin  to  applaud,  "  there's  only  one 
thing  to  be  done  in  a  case  like  this.  Lemme 
take  that  lid  of  yours. ' ' 

"  Certainly,"  says  he,  and  drops  a  fiver  into 
it  before  he  passes  it  over.  That  wa'n't  the 
only  green  money  I  collects,  either,  and  by  the 
time  I've  made  the  entire  round  I  must  have 
gathered  up  more'n  a  quart  of  spendin'  cur- 
rency. 

"  Hold  on  there,  Shorty,"  says  Chunk,  as  I 
starts  out  to  deliver  the  collection.  "  I'd  like 
to  go  with  you." 

"  Come  along,  then,"  says  I.  "I  guess 
some  of  these  sailormen  will  row  us  out." 

What  we  had  framed  up  was  one  of  these 
husky,  rugged,  old  hearts  of  oak,  who  would 
choke  up  some  on  receivin'  the  tribute  and  give 
us  his  blessin'  in  a  sort  of  "  Shore  Acres  " 


DOPING  OUT  AN  ODD  ONE        125 

curtain  speech.  Part  of  that  description  he 
lives  up  to.  He's  some  old,  all  right;  but  he 
ain't  handsome  or  rugged.  He's  a  lean,  dys- 
peptic lookin'  old  party,  with  a  wrinkled  face 
colored  up  like  a  pair  of  yellow  shoes  at  the 
end  of  a  hard  season.  His  hair  is  long  and 
matted,  and  he  ain't  overly  clean  in  any  detail. 
He  don't  receive  us  real  hearty,  either. 

11  Hey,  keep  your  hands  off  that  rail!  "  he 
sings  out,  reachin'  for  a  boathook  as  we  come 
alongside. 

"It's  all  right,  Cap,"  says  I.  "We're 
friends." 

"Git  out!'  says  he.  "I  ain't  got  any 
friends. ' ' 

' '  Sure  you  have,  old  scout, ' '  says  I.  ' '  Any- 
way, there's  a  lot  of  people  ashore  that  was 
mighty  pleased  with  the  way  you  tickled  that 
accordion.  Here's  proof  of  it  too,"  and  I  holds 
up  the  hat. 

"  Huh!  "  says  he,  gettin'  his  eye  on  the  con- 
tents. "  Come  aboard,  then.  Here,  I  guess 
you  can  stow  that  stuff  in  there,"  and  blamed 
if  he  don't  shove  out  an  empty  lard  pail  for 
me  to  dump  the  money  in.  That's  as  excited 
as  he  gets  about  it  too. 

Say,  I'd  have  indulged  in  about  two  more 
minutes  of  dialogue  with  that  ugly  faced  old 
pirate,  and  then  I'd  beat  it  for  shore  good  and 
disgusted,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  Chunk  Tracey. 


126  ODD  NUMBEES 

But  lie  jumps  in,  as  enthusiastic  as  if  he  was 
interviewin'  some  foreign  Prince,  presses  a 
twenty-five-cent  perfecto  on  the  Cap'n,  and  be- 
gins pump  in'  out  of  him  the  story  of  his 
life. 

And  when  Chunk  really  enthuses  it's  got  to 
be  a  mighty  cold  proposition  that  don't  thaw 
some.  Ten  to  one,  too,  if  this  had  been  a  nice, 
easy  talkin',  gentle  old  party,  willin'  to  tell  all 
he  knew  in  the  first  five  minutes,  Chunk 
wouldn't  have  bothered  with  him;  but,  because 
he  don't  show  any  gratitude,  mushy  or  other- 
wise, and  acts  like  he  had  a  permanent,  in- 
growin'  grouch,  Chunk  is  right  there  with  the 
persistence.  He  drags  out  of  him  that  he's 
Cap'n  Todd  Spiller,  hailin'  originally  from 
Castine,  Maine,  and  that  the  name  of  his  old 
tub  is  the  Queen  of  the  Seas.  He  says  his  chief 
business  is  clammin';  but  he  does  a  little  fishin' 
and  freightin'  on  the  side.  Pie  don't  work 
much,  though,  because  it  don't  take  a  lot  to 
keep  him. 

"  But  you  have  a  wife  somewhere  ashore, 
I  suppose,"  suggests  Chunk,  "  a  dear  old 
soul  who  waits  anxiously  for  you  to  come 
back?  " 

"  Bah!  "  grunts  Cap'n  Spiller,  knockin'  the 
heel  out  of  his  corncob  vicious.  "  I  ain't  got 
any  use  for  women." 

"  I  see,"  says  Chunk,  gazin'  up  sentimental 


DOPING  OUT  AN  ODD  ONE        127 

at  the  moon.  '  *  A  blighted  romance  of  youth ; 
some  fair,  fickle  maid  who  fled  with  another  and 
left  you  alone?  ' 

"  No  such  luck,"  says  Spiller.  "  My  trouble 
was  havin'  too  many  to  once.  Drat  'em!  " 

And  you'd  most  thought  Chunk  would  have 
let  it  go  at  that ;  but  not  him !  He  only  tackles 
Spiller  along  another  line.  "  What  I  want  to 
know,  Captain, ' '  says  he, t '  is  where  you  learned 
to  play  the  accordion  so  well." 

"  Never  learned  'tall,"  growls  Spiller. 
"  Just  picked  it  up  from  a  Portugee  that  tried 
to  knife  me  afterwards." 

"  You  don't  say!  "  says  Chunk.  "  But 
there's  the  musician's  soul  in  you.  You  love 
it,  don't  you?  You  use  it  to  express  your  deep, 
unsatisfied  longings?  " 

"  Guess  so,"  says  the  Captain.  "  I  allus 
plays  most  when  my  dyspepshy  is  worst.  It's 
kind  of  a  relief." 

"  Um-m-m — ah!  "  says  Chunk.  "  Many 
geniuses  are  that  way.  You  must  come  into 
town,  though,  and  let  me  take  you  to  hear  some 
real,  bang  up,  classical  music." 

"  Not  me!  "  grunts  Spiller.  "  I  can  make 
all  the  music  I  want  myself." 

"  How  about  plays,  then?  '  says  Chunk. 
"  Now,  wouldn't  you  like  to  see  the  best  show 
on  Broadway?  " 

No,  sir,"  says  he,  prompt  and  vigorous. 


. . 


128  ODD  NUMBEES 

"  I  ain't  never  seen  any  shows,  and  don't  want 
to  seen  one,  either." 

And,  say,  along  about  that  time,  what  with 
the  stale  cookin'  and  bilge  water  scents  that 
was  comin'  from  the  stuffy  cabin,  and  this 
charmin'  mood  that  old  Spiller  was  in,  I  was 
gettin'  restless.  "  Say,  Chunk,"  I  breaks  in, 
"  you  may  be  enjoyin'  this,  all  right;  but  I've 
got  enough.  It's  me  for  shore!  Goin' 
along?  " 

11  Not  yet,"  says  he.  "  Have  the  boat  come 
back  for  me  in  about  an  hour." 

It  was  nearer  two,  though,  before  he  shows 
up  again,  and  his  face  is  fairly  beamin'. 

"  Well,"  says  I,  "  did  you  adopt  the  old 
pirate,  or  did  he  adopt  you?  ' 

"  Wait  and  see,"  says  he,  noddin'  his  head 
cocky.  "  Anyway,  he's  promised  to  show  up 
at  my  office  to-rnorrow  afternoon." 

"  You  must  be  stuck  on  entertaining  a 
grouchy  old  lemon  like  that,"  says  I. 

"  But  he's  a  genius,"  says  Chunk.  "  Just 
what  I've  been  looking  for  as  a  head  liner  in 
a  new  vaudeville  house  I'm  opening  next 
month." 

"  What!  "  says  I.  "  You  ain't  thinkin'  of 
puttin'  that  old  sour  face  on  the  stage,  are 
you?  Say,  you're  batty!  ' 

"  Batty,  am  I?  "  says  Chunk,  kind  of  swellin' 
up.  "  All  right,  I'll  show  you.  I've  made 


DOPING  OUT  AN  ODD  ONE        129 

half  a  million,  my  boy,  by  just  such  batty 
moves  as  that.  It's  because  I  know  people, 
know  'em  through  and  through,  from  what 
they'll  pay  to  hear,  to  the  ones  who  can  give 
'em  what  they  want.  I'm  a  discoverer  of  tal- 
ent, Shorty.  Where  do  I  get  my  stars  from? 
Pick  'em  up  anywhere*.  I  don't  go  to  London 
and  Paris  and  pay  fancy  salaries.  I  find  my 
attractions  first  hand,  sign'  em  up  on  long 
contracts,  and  take  the  velvet  that  comes  in 
myself.  That's  my  way,  and  I  guess  I've  made 
good." 

11  Maybe  you  have,"  says  I;  "  but  I'm 
guessin'  this  is  where  you  stub  your  toe.  Hot 
line  that'll  be  for  the  head  of  a  bill,  won't  it — 
an  accordion  player?  Think  you  can  get  that 
across?  " 

"  Think!  "  says  Chunk,  gettin'  indignant  as 
usual,  because  someone  suggests  he  can  fall 
down  on  anything.  "  Why,  I'm  going  to  put 
that  over  twice  a  day,  to  twelve  hundred-dollar 
houses!  No,  I  don't  think;  I  know!  " 

And  just  for  that  it  wouldn't  have  taken 
much  urgin'  for  me  to  have  put  up  a  few 
yellow  ones  that  he  was  makin'  a  wrong  fore- 
cast. 

But,  say,  you  didn't  happen  to  be  up  to  the 
openin'  of  Peter  K.'s  new  Alcazar  the  other 
night,  did  you?  Well,  Sadie  and  I  was,  on 
account  of  being  included  in  one  of  Chunk's 


130  ODD  NUMBEBS 

complimentary  box  parties.  And,  honest,  when 
they  sprung  that  clouded  moonlight  water  view, 
with  the  Long  Island  lights  in  the  distance,  and 
the  Sound  steamers  passin'  back  and  forth 
at  the  back,  and  the  rocks  in  front,  hanged  if  I 
didn't  feel  like  I  was  on  the  veranda  of  our 
yacht  club,  watchin'  it  all  over  again,  the  same 
as  it  was  that  night! 

Then  in  from  one  side  comes  this  boat;  no 
ordinary  property  piece  faked  up  from  some- 
thing in  stock;  but  a  life  sized  model  that's  a 
dead  ringer  for  the  old  Queen  of  the  Seas, 
even  to  the  stovepipe  and  the  shirts  hung  from 
the  forestay.  It  comes  floatin'  in  lazy  and 
natural,  and  when  Cap  Spiller  goes  forward 
to  heave  over  the  anchor  he  drops  it  with  a 
splash  into  real  water.  He's  wearin'  the  same 
old  costume, — shirt  sleeves,  cob  pipe,  and  all, 
— and  when  he  begins  to  putter  around  in  the 
cabin,  blamed  if  you  couldn't  smell  the  onions 
fryin'  and  the  coffee  boilin'.  Yes,  sir,  Chunk 
had  put  it  all  on! 

Did  the  act  get  'em  interested?  Say,  there 
was  fifteen  straight  minutes  of  this  scenic  busi- 
ness, with  not  a  word  said ;  but  the  house  was 
so  still  I  could  hear  my  watch  tickin'.  But 
when  he  drags  out  that  old  accordion,  plants 
himself  on  the  cabin  roof  with  one  leg  swingin' 
careless  over  the  side,  and  opens  up  with  them 
old  tunes  of  his — well,  he  had  'em  all  with  him, 


DOPING  OUT  AN  ODD  ONE        131 

from  the  messenger  boys  in  the  twenty-five- 
cent  gallery  to  the  brokers  in  the  fifteen-dollar 
boxes.  He  takes  five  curtain  calls,  and  the  or- 
chestra circle  was  still  demandin'  more  when 
they  rung  down  the  front  drop. 

"  Chunk,"  says  I,  as  he  shows  up  at  our 
box,  "  I  take  it  back.  You  sure  have  picked 
another  winner." 

"  Looks  like  it,  don't  it?  "  says  he.  "  And 
whisper!  A  fifty-minute  act  for  a  hundred  a 
week !  That's  the  best  of  it.  Up  at  the  Colum- 
bus their  top  liner  is  costing  them  a  thousand 
a  day." 

"  It's  a  cinch  if  you  can  hold  onto  him,  eh?  ' 
says  I. 

"  Oh,  I  can  hold  him  all  right,"  says  Chunk, 
waggin'  his  head  confident.  "  I  know  enough, 
about  human  nature  to  be  sure  of  that.  Of 
course,  he's  an  odd  freak;  but  this  sort  of  thing 
will  grow  on  him.  The  oftener  he  gets  a  hand 
like  that,  the  more  he'll  want  it,  and  inside  of 
a  fortnight  that'll  be  what  he  lives  for.  Oh, 
I  know  people,  from  the  ground  up,  inside  and 
outside!  " 

Well,  I  was  beginnin'  to  think  he  did.  And, 
havin'  been  on  the  inside  of  his  deal,  I  got  to 
takin'  a  sort  of  pride  in  this  hit,  almost  as 
much  as  if  I'd  discovered  the  Captain  myself. 
I  used  to  go  up  about  every  afternoon  to  see 
old  Spiller  do  his  stunt  and  get  'em  goin'. 


132  ODD  NUMBERS 

Gen 'rally  I'd  lug  along  two  or  three  friends, 
so  I  could  tell  'em  how  it  happened. 

Last  Friday  I  was  a  little  late  for  the  act, 
and  was  just  rushin'  by  the  boxoffice,  when  I 
hears  language  floatin'  out  that  I  recognizes 
as  a  brand  that  only  Chunk  Tracey  could  de- 
liver when  he  was  good  and  warm  under 
the  collar.  Peekin'  in  through  the  window, 
I  sees  him  standin'  there,  fairly  tearin'  his 
hair. 

"  What's  up,  Chunk?  "  says  I.  "  You  seem 
peeved." 

1 '  Peeved !  "  he  yells.    l '  Why,  blankety  blank 
the  scousy  universe,  I'm  stark,  raving  mad! 
"What  do  you  think?    Spiller  has  quit!  " 
t    ff  Somebody  overbid  that  hundred  a  week?  " 
says  L 

"  I  wish  they  had;  then  I  could  get  out  an 
injunction  and  hold  him  on  his  contract,"  says 
Peter  K.  "  But  he's  skipped,  skipped  for 
good.  Read  that." 

It's  only  a  scrawly  note  he'd  left  pinned  up 
in  his  dressin'  room,  and,  while  it  ain't  much 
as  a  specimen  of  flowery  writing  it  states  his 
case  more  or  less  clear.  Here's  what  it  said: 

MISTER  P.  K.  TRACEY; 

Sir: — I'm  through  being  a  fool  actor.  The  money's  all  right  if 
I  needed  it,  which  I  doant,  but  I  doant  like  makin'  a  fool  of 
myself  twict  a  day  to  please  a  lot  of  citty  foalks  I  doant  give  a  dam 
about  annie  way,  I  doant  like  livin'  in  a  blamed  hotel  either,  for 


DOPING  OUT  AN  ODD  ONE        133 

there  aint  annie  wheres  to  set  and  smoak  and  see  the  sun  come 
up.  I'd  ruther  be  on  my  old  bote,  and  that's  whare  I'm  goin'. 
You  needn't  try  to  find  me  and  git  me  to  come  back  for  I  wont. 
You  couldn't  git  me  to  act  on  that  staige  agin,  ever.  It's 
foolish. 

Yours'  TODD  SPILLEB. 


* '  Now  what  in  the  name  of  all  that's  woolly," 
says  Chunk,  "  would  you  say  to  a  thing  like 
that?  " 

"  Me?  "  says  I.  "I  don't  know.  Maybe  I'd 
start  in  by  admittin'  that  to  card  index  the 
minds  of  the  whole  human  race  was  a  good  deal 
of  a  job  for  one  party  to  tackle,  even  with  a 
mighty  intellect  like  yours.  Also,  if  it  was  put 
up  to  me  flat,  I  might  agree  with  Spiller." 


CHAPTEE  IX 

HANDING  BOBBY  A  BLANK 

SAY,  what  do  you  make  out  of  this  plute 
huntin'  business,  anyway?  Has  the  big  money 
bunch  got  us  down  on  the  mat  with  our  wind 
shut  off  and  OUT  pockets  inside  out;  or  is  it 
just  campaign  piffle?  Are  we  ghost  dancin', 
or  waltz  dreamin',  or  what?  It  sure  has  me 
twisted  up  for  fair,  and  I  don't  know  whether 
I  stand  with  the  criminal  rich  or  the  predatory 
poor. 

That's  all  on  account  of  a  little  mix-up  I  was 
rung  into  at  the  hotel  Perzazzer  the  other  day. 
No,  we  ain't  Irvin'  there  reg'lar  again.  This 
was  just  a  little  fall  vacation  we  was  takin'  in 
town,  so  Sadie  can  catch  up  with  her  shoppin', 
and  of  course  the  Perzazzer  seems  more  or 
less  like  home  to  us. 

But  it  ain't  often  I've  ever  run  against  any- 
thing like  this  there.  I've  been  thinkin'  it  over 
since,  and  it's  left  me  with  my  feet  in  the  air. 
No,  you  didn't  read  anything  about  it  in  the 
papers.  But  say,  there's  more  goes  on  in  one 
of  them  big  joints  every  week  than  would  fill 
a  whole  issue. 

134 


HANDING  BOBBY  A  BLANK        135 

Look  at  the  population  the  Perzazzer's  got, — 
over  two  thousand,  countin*  the  help!  Why, 
drop  us  down  somewhere  out  in  Iowa,  and 
spread  us  around  in  separate  houses,  and 
there 'd  be  enough  to  call  for  a  third-class  post- 
master, a  police  force,  and  a  board  of  trade. 
Bunched  the  way  we  are,  all  up  and  down  sev- 
enteen stories,  with  every  cubic  foot  accounted 
for,  we  don 't  cut  much  of  a  figure  except  on  the 
checkbooks.  You  hear  about  the  Perzazzer 
only  when  some  swell  gives  a  fancy  blowout, 
or  a  guest  gets  frisky  in  the  public  dining 
room. 

And  anything  in  the  shape  of  noise  soon  has 
the  muffler  put  on  it.  We've  got  a  whole  squad 
of  husky,  two-handed,  soft  spoken  gents  who 
don't  have  anything  else  to  do,  and  our  cham- 
peen  ruction  extinguisher  is  Danny  Keardon. 
To  see  him  strollin'  through  the  cafe,  you  might 
think  he  was  a  corporation  lawyer  studyin'  how 
to  spend  his  next  fee;  but  let  some  ambitious 
wine  opener  put  on  the  loud  pedal,  or  have 
Danny  get  his  eye  on  some  Bridgeport  dress- 
maker drawin'  designs  of  the  latest  Paris 
fashions  in  the  tea  room,  and  you'll  see  him 
wake  up.  Nothing  seems  to  get  by  him. 

So  I  was  some  surprised  to  find  him  havin' 
an  argument  with  a  couple  of  parties  away 
up  on  our  floor.  Anyone  could  see  with  one 
eye  that  they  was  a  pair  of  butt-ins.  The  tall, 


136  ODD  NUMBERS 

smooth  faced  gent  in  the  black  frock  coat  and 
the  white  tie  had  sky  pilot  wrote  all  over  him ; 
and  the  Perzazzer  ain't  just  the  place  an  out 
of  town  minister  would  pick  out  to  stop  at, 
unless  he  wanted  to  blow  a  year's  salary  into 
a  week's  board. 

Anyway,  his  runnin'  mate  was  a  dead  give 
away.  He  looked  like  he  might  have  just  left 
a  bench  in  the  Oriental  lodgin'  house  down  at 
Chatham  Square.  He's  a  thin,  gawky,  pale 
haired  youth,  with  tired  eyes  and  a  limp  lower 
jaw  that  leaves  his  mouth  half  open  all  the 
time;  and  his  costume  looks  like  it  had  been 
made  up  from  back  door  contributions, — a 
faded  coat  three  sizes  too  small,  a  forty  fat 
vest,  and  a  pair  of  shiny  black  whipcord  pants 
that  someone  had  been  married  in  about  twenty 
years  back. 

What  gets  me  is  why  such  a  specimen  should 
be  trailin'  around  with  a  clean,  decent  lookin' 
chap  like  this  minister.  Maybe  that's  why  I 
come  to  take  any  notice  of  their  little  debate. 
There's  some  men,  though,  that  you  always 
give  a  second  look  at,  and  this  minister  gent 
was  one  of  that  kind.  It  wa'n't  until  I  see 
how  he  tops  Danny  by  a  head  that  I  notices 
how  well  built  he  is;  and  I  figures  that  if  he 
was  only  in  condition,  and  knew  how  to  handle 
himself,  he  could  put  up  a  good  lively  scrap. 
Something  about  his  jaw  hints  that  to  me;  but 


HANDING  BOBBY  A  BLANK       137 

of  course,  him  bein'  a  Bible  pounder,  I  don't 
expect  anything  of  the  kind. 

"  Yes,  I  understand  all  that,"  Danny  was 
tellin'  him;  "  but  you'd  better  come  down  to 
the  office,  just  the  same." 

"  My  dear  man,"  says  the  minister,  "  I  have 
been  to  the  office,  as  I  told  you  before,  and  I 
could  get  no  satisfaction  there.  The  person  I 
wish  to  see  is  on  the  ninth  floor.  They  say  he 
is  out.  I  doubt  it,  and,  as  I  have  come  six 
hundred  miles  just  to  have  a  word  with  him,  I 
insist  on  a  chance  to " 

"  Sure!  "  says  Danny.  "You'll  get  your 
chance,  only  it's  against  the  rules  to  allow 
strangers  above  the  ground  floor.  Now,  you 
come  along  with  me  and  you'll  be  all  right." 
With  that  Danny  gets  a  grip  on  the  gent's  arm 
and  starts  to  walk  him  to  the  elevator.  But  he 
don't  go  far.  The  next  thing  Danny  knows  he's 
been  sent  spinnin'  against  the  other  wall. 
Course,  he  wa'n't  lookin'  for  any  such  move; 
but  it  was  done  slick  and  prompt. 

"  Sorry,"  says  the  minister,  shovin'  his  cuffs 
back  in  place;  "  but  I  must  ask  you  to  keep 
your  hands  off." 

I  see  what  Danny  was  up  to  then.  He  looks 
as  cool  as  a  soda  fountain;  but  he's  red  behind 
his  ears,  and  he's  fishin'  the  chain  nippers  out 
of  his  side  pocket.  I  knows  that  in  about  a 
minute  the  gent  in  the  frock  coat  will  have 


138  ODD  NUMBEES 

both  hands  out  of  business.  Even  at  that,  it 
looks  like  an  even  bet,  with  somebody  gettin' 
hurt  more  or  less.  And  blamed  if  I  didn't 
hate  to  see  that  spunky  minister  get  mussed  up, 
just  for  objectin'  to  takin'  the  quiet  run  out. 
So  I  pushes  to  the  front. 

"Well,  well!  "  says  I,  shovin'  out  a  hand 
to  the  parson,  as  though  he  was  someone  I'd 
been  lookin'  for.  "  So  you  showed  up,  eh?  " 

11  Why,"  says  he, — "  why — er " 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  says  I,  headin'  him  off. 
' '  You  can  tell  me  about  that  later.  Bring  your 
friend  right  in;  this  is  my  door.  It's  all  right, 
Danny;  mistakes  will  happen." 

And  before  any  of  'em  knows  what's  up, 
Danny  is  left  outside  with  his  mouth  open,  while 
I've  towed  the  pair  of  strays  into  our  sittin' 
room,  and  shooed  Sadie  out  of  the  way.  The 
minister  looks  kind  of  dazed;  but  he  keeps  his 
head  well. 

"  Eeally,"  says  he,  gazin'  around,  "  I  am 
sure  there  must  be  some  misunderstanding." 

"  You  bet,"  says  I,  "  and  it  was  gettin' 
worse  every  minute.  About  two  shakes  more, 
and  you'd  been  the  center  of  a  local  disturbance 
that  would  have  landed  you  before  the  police 
sergeant." 

"  Do  you  mean,"  says  he,  "  that  I  cannot 
communicate  with  a  guest  in  this  hotel  without 
being  liable  to  arrest?  " 


"  That's  the  size  of  it,"  says  I.  "  Danny 
had  the  bracelets  all  out.  The  conundrum  is, 
though,  Why  I  should  do  the  goat  act,  instead 
of  lettin'  you  two  mix  it  up!  But  that's  what 
happened,  and  now  I  guess  it's  up  to  you  to 
give  an  account.'* 

"  H'm!  "  says  he.  "  It  isn't  quite  clear; 
but  I  infer  that  you  have,  in  a  way,  made  your- 
self responsible  for  me.  May  I  ask  whom  I 
have  to  thank  for ' 

"I'm  Shorty  McCabe,"  says  I. 

"  Oh!  "  says  he.  "  It  seems  to  me  I've 
heard " 

"  Nothing  like  bein'  well  advertised,"  says 
I.  "  Now,  how  about  you — and  this?  "  With 
that  I  points  to  the  specimen  in  the  cast  offs, 
that  was  givin'  an  imitation  of  a  flytrap.  It  was 
a  little  crisp,  I  admit;  but  I'm  gettin'  anxious 
to  know  where  I  stand. 

The  minister  lifts  his  eyebrows  some,  but 
proceeds  to  hand  out  the  information.  "  My 
name  is  Hooker,"  says  he, — "  Samuel  Hooker." 

"  Preacher?  "  says  I. 

"  Ye-es,  a  poor  one,"  says  he.  "  Where! 
Well,  in  the  neighborhood  of  Mossy  Dell,  Penn- 
sylvania. ' ' 

"  Out  in  the  celluloid  collar  belt,  eh!  "  says 
I.  "  This  ain't  a  deacon,  is  it!  "  and  I  jerks 
my  thumb  at  the  fish  eyed  one. 

"  This  unfortunate  fellow,"  says  he,  droppin' 


140  ODD  NUMBERS 

a  hand  on  the  object's  shoulder,  "  is  one  of  our 
industrial  products.  His  name  is  Kronacher, 
commonly  called  Dummy." 

"  I  can  guess  why,"  says  I.  "  But  now  let's 
get  down  to  how  you  two  happen  to  be  loose 
on  the  seventh  floor  of  the  Perzazzer  and  so 
far  from  Mossy  Dell." 

The  Eeverend  Sam  says  there  ain't  any  great 
mystery  about  that.  He  come  on  here  special 
to  have  a  talk  with  a  party  by  the  name  of 
Rankin,  that  he  understood  was  stoppin'  here. 

"  You  don't  mean  Bobby  Brut,  do  you?  ' 
says  I. 

"  Robert  K.  Rankin  is  the  young  man's  name, 
I  believe,"  says  he, — "  son  of  the  late  Loring 
Rankin,  president  of  the  Consolidated— 

"  That's  Bobby  Brut,"  says  I.  "  Don't 
catch  onto  the  Brut,  eh?  You  would  if  you 
read  the  champagne  labels.  Friend  of  yours, 
is  he?  " 

But  right  there  the  Rev.  Mr.  Hooker  turns 
balky.  He  hints  that  his  business  with  Bobby 
is  private  and  personal,  and  he  ain't  anxious 
to  lay  it  before  a  third  party.  He'd  told  'em 
the  same  at  the  desk,  when  someone  from 
Bobbie's  rooms  had  'phoned  for  details  about 
the  card,  and  then  he'd  got  the  turn  down. 
But  he  wa'n't  the  kind  that  stayed  down.  He's 
goin'  to  see  Mr.  Rankin  or  bu'st.  Not  wantin' 
to  ask  for  the  elevator,  he  blazes  ahead  up  the 


HANDING  BOBBY  A  BLANK       141 

stairs;  and  Danny,  it  seems,  hadn't  got  on  his 
track  until  he  was  well  started. 

"  All  I  ask,"  says  he,  "  is  five  minutes  of 
Mr.  Kankin  's  time.  That  is  not  an  unreasonable 
request,  I  hope?  ' 

"  Excuse  me,"  says  I;  "  but  you're  missin' 
the  point  by  a  mile.  It  ain't  how  long  you 
want  to  stay,  but  what  you're  here  for.  You 
got  to  remember  that  things  is  run  different 
on  Fifth-ave.  from  what  they  are  on  Penrose- 
st.,  Mossy  Dell.  You  might  be  a  book  agent, 
or  a  bomb  thrower,  for  all  the  folks  at  the  desk 
know.  So  the  only  way  to  get  next  to  anyone 
here  is  to  show  your  hand  and  take  the  de- 
cision. Now  if  you  want  to  try  runnin'  the 
outside  guard  again,  I'll  call  Danny  back.  But 
you'll  make  a  mess  of  it." 

He  thinks  that  over  for  a  minute,  lookin' 
me  square  in  the  eye  all  the  time,  and  all  of  a 
sudden  he  puts  out  his  hand.  "  You're  right," 
says  he.  "I  was  hot  headed,  and  let  my  zeal 
get  the  better  of  my  commonsense.  Thank 
you,  Mr.  McCabe." 

"  That's  all  right,"  says  I.  "  You  go  down 
to  the  office  and  put  your  case  to  'em  straight." 

"  No,"  says  he,  shruggin'  his  shoulders, 
"  that  wouldn't  do  at  all.  I  suppose  I've  come 
on  a  fool's  errand.  Kronacher,  we'll  go  back." 

"  That's  too  bad,"  says  I,  "  if  you  had  busi- 
ness with  Bobby  that  was  on  the  level." 


142  ODD  NUMBERS 

11  Since  you've  been  so  kind,"  says  he,  "  per- 
haps you  would  give  me  your  opinion — if  I  am 
not  detaining  you?  " 

"  Spiel  away!  "  says  I.  "  I'll  own  up  you've 
got  me  some  interested.'* 

Well,  say,  when  he'd  described  his  visit  as  a 
dippy  excursion,  he  wa'n't  far  off.  Seems  that 
this  Rev.  Sam  Hooker  ain't  a  reg'lar  preacher, 
with  a  stained  glass  window  church,  a  steam 
heated  parsonage,  and  a  settled  job.  He's  sort 
of  a  Gospel  promoter,  that  goes  around  plantin' 
churches  here  and  there, — home  missionary,  he 
calls  it,  though  I  always  thought  a  home  mis- 
sionary was  one  that  was  home  from  China  on 
a  half-pay  visit. 

Mainly  he  says  he  drifts  around  through  the 
coke  oven  and  glass  works  district,  where  all 
the  Polackers  and  other  dagoes  work.  He  don't 
let  it  go  with.preachm'  to  'em,  though.  He 
pokes  around  among  their  shacks,  seein'  how 
they  live,  sendin'  doctors  for  sick  babies,  givin' 
the  women  folks  hints  on  the  use  of  fresh  air 
and  hard  soap,  an'  advisin'  'em  to  keep  their 
kids  in  school.  He's  one  of  them  strenuous 
chaps,  too,  that  believes  in  stirrin'  up  a  fuss 
whenever  he  runs  across  anything  he  thinks 
is  wrong.  One  of  the  fights  he's  been  mak- 
ing is  something  about  the  boys  in  the  glass 
works. 

"  Perhaps  you  have  heard  of  our  efforts  to 


HANDING  BOBBY  A  BLANK        143 

have  a  child  labor  bill  passed  in  our  State?  ' 
says  he. 

"  No,"  says  I;  "  but  I'm  against  it.  There's 
enough  kids  has  to  answer  the  mill  whistle, 
without  passin'  laws  to  make  'em." 

Then  he  explains  how  the  bill  is  to  keep  'em 
from  go  in'  at  it  too  young,  or  workin'  too  many 
hours  on  a  stretch.  Course,  I'm  with  him  on 
that,  and  says  so. 

"  Ah!  "  says  he.  "  Then  you  may  be  inter- 
ested to  learn  that  young  Mr.  Eankin  is  the 
most  extensive  employer  of  child  labor  in  our 
State.  That  is  what  I  want  to  talk  to  him 
about." 

"  Ever  see  Bobby?  "  says  I. 

He  says  he  hasn't. 

11  Know  anything  of  his  habits,  and  so  on?  ' 
I  asks. 

' '  Not  a  thing, ' '  says  the  Rev.  'Sam. 

' '  Then  you  take  it  from  me, ' '  says  I,  ' '  that 
you  ain't  missed  much." 

See?  I  couldn't  go  all  over  that  record  of 
Bobby  Brut's,  specially  to  a  preacher.  Not 
that  Bobby  was  the  worst  that  ever  cruised 
around  the  Milky  Way  in  a  sea  goin'  cab  with 
his  feet  over  the  dasher ;  but  he  was  something 
of  a  torrid  proposition  while  he  lasted.  You 
remember  some  of  his  stunts,  maybe?  I  hadn't 
kept  strict  tabs  on  him;  but  I'd  heard  that  after 
they  chucked  him  out  of  the  sanatorium  his 


144  ODD  NUMBERS 

mother  planted  him  here,  with  a  man  nurse 
and  a  private  doctor,  and  slid  off  to  Europe  to 
stay  with  her  son  in  law  Count  until  folks  for- 
got about  Bobby. 

And  this  was  the  youth  the  Eev.  Mr.  Hooker 
had  come  to  have  a  heart  to  heart  talk  with ! 

"  Ain't  you  takin'  a  lot  of  trouble,  just  for 
a  few  Polackers?  "  says  I. 

11  They  are  my  brothers,"  says  he,  quiet  like. 

"  What!  "  says  I.    "  You  don't  look  it." 

His  mouth  corners  nickers  a  little  at  that, 
and  there  comes  a  glimmer  in  them  solemn  gray 
eyes  of  his;  but  he  goes  on  to  say  that  it's 
part  of  his  belief  that  every  man  in  his  brother. 

"  G-ee!  "  says  I.  "  You've  adopted  a  big 
fam'ly." 

But  say,  he's  so  dead  in  earnest  about  it,  and 
he  talks  so  sensible  about  other  things,  besides 
appearin'  so  white  clear  through,  that  I  can't 
help  likin'  the  cuss. 

"  Look  here!  "  says  I.  "  This  is  way  out  of 
my  line,  and  it  strikes  me  as  a  batty  proposition 
anyway;  but  if  you're  still  anxious  to  have  a 
chin  with  Bobby,  maybe  I  can  fix  it." 

"  Thank  you,  thank  you!  "  says  he,  givin' 
me  the  grateful  grip. 

It's  a  good  deal  easier  than  I'd  thought. 
All  I  does  is  get  one  of  Bobby's  retinue  on  the 
house  'phone,  tell  who  I  am,  and  say  I  was 
thinkin'  of  droppin'  up  with  a  couple  of  friends 


HANDING  BOBBY  A  BLANK       145 

for  a  short  call,  if  Bobby's  agreeable.  Seems 
he  was,  for  inside  of  two  minutes  we're  on  our 
way  up  in  the  elevator. 

Got  any  idea  of  the  simple  way  a  half  baked 
young  plute  can  live  in  a  place  like  the  Perzaz- 
zerl  He  has  one  floor  of  a  whole  wing  cut  off 
for  his  special  use, — about  twenty  rooms,  I 
should  judge, — and  there  was  hired  hands 
standin'  around  in  every  corner.  We're  piloted 
in  over  the  Persian  rugs,  with  the  preacher 
blinkin'  his  eyes  to  keep  from  seein'  some  of 
the  statuary  and  oil  paintin's. 

At  last  we  comes  to  a  big  room  with  an 
eastern  exposure,  furnished  like  a  show  win- 
dow. Sittin'  at  a  big  mahogany  table  in  the 
middle  is  a  narrow  browed,  pop  eyed,  bat  eared 
young  chap  in  a  padded  silk  dressin'  gown,  and 
I  remembers  him  for  the  Bobby  Brut  I  used 
to  see  floatin'  around  with  the  Trixy-Madges 
at  the  lobster  palaces.  He  has  a  couple  of  decks 
of  cards  laid  out  in  front  of  him,  and  I  guesses 
he's  havin'  a  go  at  Canfield  solitaire.  Behind 
his  chair  stands  a  sour  faced  lackey  who  holds 
up  his  hand  for  us  to  wait. 

Bobby  don't  look  up  at  all.  He's  shiftin' 
the  cards  around,  tryin'  to  make  'em  come  out 
right,  doin'  it  quick  and  nervous.  All  of  a 
sudden  the  lackey  claps  his  hand  down  on  a  pile 
and  says,  "  Beg  pardon,  sir,  but  you  can't  do 
that." 


146  ODD  NUMBERS 

11  Blast  you!  "  snarls  Bobby.  "  And  I  was 
just  getting  it!  Why  didn't  you  look  the  other 
way?  Bah!  "  and  he  sends  the  whole  lot  flyin' 
on  the  floor.  Do  you  catch  on?  He  has  the 
lackey  there  to  see  that  he  don't  cheat  him- 
self. 

But  while  the  help  was  pickin'  up  the  cards 
Bobby  gets  a  glimpse  of  our  trio,  ranged  up 
against  the  door  draperies. 

"  Hello,  Shorty  McCabe!"  he  sings  out. 
"  It's  bully  of  you  to  drop  in.  Nobody  comes 
to  see  me  any  more — hardly  a  soul.  Say,  do 
you  think  there's  anything  the  matter  with 
my  head?  " 

"  Can't  say  your  nut  shows  any  cracks  from 
here,"  says  I.  "  Who's  been  tellin'  you  it 
did?  " 

"  Why,  all  those  blasted  doctors,"  says  he. 
"  They  won't  even  let  me  go  out  alone.  But 
say, ' '  here  he  beckons  me  up  and  whispers  mys- 
terious, "  I'll  fix  'em  yet!  You  just  wait  till 
I  get  my  animals  trained.  You  wait!  '  Then 
he  claps  his  hands  and  hollers,  "  Atkins!  Set 
'em  going!  " 

Atkins,  he  stops  scrabblin'  after  the  cards 
and  starts  around  the  room.  And  say,  would 
you  believe  it, on  all  the  tables  and  mantelpieces 
was  a  lot  of  those  toy  animals,  such  as  they  sell 
durin'  the  holidays.  There  was  lions  and  tigers 
and  elephants,  little  and  big,  and  every  last 


HANDING  BOBBY  A  BLANK       147 

one  of  'em  has  its  head  balanced  so  it'll  move 
up  and  down  when  you  touch  it.  Atkins'  job 
was  to  go  from  one  to  the  other  and  set  'em 
bobbin'.  Them  on  the  mantels  wa'n't  more'n 
a  few  inches  long;  but  on  the  floor,  hid  behind 
chairs,  was  some  that  was  life  size.  One  was 
a  tiger,  made  out  of  a  real  skin,  and  when  his 
head  goes  his  jaws  open  and  shut,  and  his  tail 
lashes  from  side  to  side,  as  natural  as  life. 
Say,  it  was  weird  to  watch  that  collection,  all 
noddin'  away  together — almost  gave  you  the 
willies ! 

"  Are  they  all  going?  "  says  Bobby. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  says  Atkins,  standin'  attention. 

"What  do  you  think,  eh?"  says  Bobbie, 
half  shuttin'  his  pop  eyes  and  starin'  at  me, 
real  foxy. 

"  Great  scheme!  "  says  I.  "  Didn't  know 
you  had  a  private  zoo  up  here.  But  say,  I 
brought  along  someone  that  wants  to  have  a 
little  chin  with  you." 

With  that  I  hauls  the  Rev.  Sam  to  the 
front  and  gives  him  the  nudge  to  fire  away. 
And  say,  he's  all  primed!  He  begins  by  givin' 
Bobbie  a  word  picture  of  the  Eankin  glass 
works  at  night,  when  the  helpers  are  carryin' 
the  trays  from  the  hot  room,  where  the  blowers 
work  three-hour  shifts,  with  the  mercury  at 
one  hundred  and  twenty,  to  the  coolin'  room, 
where  it's  like  a  cellar.  He  tells  him  how 


148  ODD  NUMBERS 

many  helpers  there  are,  how  many  hours  they 
work  a  day,  and  what  they  get  for  it.  It  didn't 
make  me  yearn  for  a  job. 

"  And  here,"  says  the  Eev.  Mr.  Hooker, 
pullin'  the  Dummy  up  by  the  sleeve,  "  is  what 
happens.  This  boy  went  to  work  in  your  glass 
factory  when  he  was  thirteen.  He  was  red 
cheeked,  clear  eyed,  then,  and  he  had  a  normal 
brain.  He  held  his  job  six  years.  Then  he 
was  discharged.  Why!  Because  he  wasn't  of 
any  more  use.  He  was  all  in,  the  juice  sapped 
out  of  him,  as  dry  as  a  last  year's  cornhusk. 
Look  at  him !  Any  doubt  about  his  being  used 
up?  And  what  happened  to  him  is  happening 
to  thousands  of  other  boys.  So  I  have  come 
here  to  ask  you,  Mr.  Eankin,  if  you  are  proud 
of  turning  out  such  products!  Aren't  you 
ready  to  stop  hiring  thirteen-year-old  boys  for 
your  works?  " 

Say,  it  was  straight  from  the  shoulder,  that 
talk, — no  flourishes,  no  fine  words!  And  what 
do  you  guess  Bobby  Brut  has  to  say?  Not  a 
blamed  thing!  I  doubt  if  he  heard  more'n 
half  of  it,  anyway;  for  he's  got  his  eyes  set 
on  that  pasty  face  of  Dummy  Kronacher,  and 
is  followin'  his  motions. 

The  Dummy  ain't  payin'  any  attention  to  the 
speech,  either.  He's  got  sight  of  all  them  ani- 
mals with  their  heads  bobbin',  and  a  silly  grin 
spreads  over  his  face.  First  he  sidles  over  to 


HANDING  BOBBY  A  BLANK       149 

the  mantel  and  touches  up  one  that  was  about 
stopped.  Then  he  sees  another,  and  starts  that 
off  again,  and  by  the  time  Hooker  is  through 
the  Dummy  is  as  busy  and  contented  as  you 
please,  keepin'  them  tigers  and  things  movin'. 

"  Well  I  "  says  the  Rev.  Sam. 

"  Eh?  "  says  Bobby,  tearin'  his  eyes  off  the 
Dummy.  "  Were  you  saying  something  about 
the  glass  works'?  Beastly  bore!  I  never  go 
near  them.  But  say!  I  want  that  chap  over 
there.  I  want  to  hire  him.  What 's  his  name  1  ' 

11  Dummy  Kronacher,"  says  the  Rev.  Sam, 
comin'  out  strong  on  the  first  word. 

"Good!"  says  Bobbie.  "  Hey,  Dummy? 
What  will  you  take  to  stay  here  with  me  and 
do  that  right  along?  ' 

Dummy  has  just  discovered  a  stuffed  alli- 
gator that  can  snap  its  jaws  and  wiggle  its  tail. 
He  only  looks  up  and  grins. 

"I'll  make  it  a  hundred  a  month,"  says 
Bobbie.  "  Well,  that's  settled.  Atkins,  you're 
fired !  And  say,  McCabe,  I  must  show  this  new 
man  how  I  want  this  business  done.  You  and 
your  friend  run  in  some  other  time,  will  you?  ' 

"  But,"  says  Hooker,  "  can't  you  do  some- 
thing about  those  helpers?  Won't  you  promise 
to " 


. . 


No!"  snaps  Bobby.  "I've  no  time  to 
bother  with  such  things.  Atkins,  show  'em 
out!  " 


150  ODD  NUMBEKS 

Well,  we  went.  We  goes  so  sudden  the  Eev. 
Sam  forgets  about  leavin'  the  Dummy  until 
we're  outside,  and  then  he's  for  goin'  back 
after  him. 

"  What  for?  "  says  I.  "  That  pair'U  get 
along  fine:  they're  two  of  a  kind." 

"  I  guess  you're  right,'7  says  he.  "  And 
it's  something  to  have  brought  those  two  to- 
gether. Perhaps  someone  will  see  the  signifi- 
cance of  it,  some  day." 

Now  what  was  he  drivinr  at  then?  You  can 
search  me.  All  I've  been  able  to  make  out  of 
it  is  that  what  ails  the  poor  is  poverty,  and  the 
trouble  with  the  plutes  is  that  they've  got  too 
much.  Eh?  Barney  Shaw  said  something  like 
that  too?  Well,  don't  let  on  I  agree  with  him. 
He  might  get  chesty. 


CHAPTER  X 

MAHMADUKE   SLIPS   ONE   OVER 

AND  yon'd  almost  think  I  could  accumulate 
enough  freaks,  all  by  myself,  without  havin'  my 
friends  pass  theirs  along,  wouldn't  you?  Yet 
lemme  tell  you  what  Pinckney  rung  up  on  me. 

He  comes  into  the  Studio  one  day  towin'  a 
party  who  wears  brown  spats  and  a  brown  rib- 
bon to  his  shell  rimmed  eyeglasses,  and  leaves 
him  planted  in  a  chair  over  by  the  window, 
where  he  goes  to  rubbin'  his  chin  with  a  silver- 
handled  stick  while  we  dive  into  the  gym.  for 
one  of  our  little  half-hour  sessions.  Leaves 
him  there  without  sayin'  a  word,  mind  you,  like 
you'd  stand  an  umbrella  in  the  corner! 

11  Who's  the  silent  gazooks  you  run  on  the 
siding  out  front  ?  ' '  says  I. 

"  Why,"  says  Pinckney,  "  that's  only  Mar- 
maduke. ' ' 

'  *  Only !  ' '  says  I.  "I  should  say  Mannaduke 
was  quite  some  of  a  name.  Anything  behind 
it?  He  ain't  a  blank,  is  he?  " 

"  Who,  Marmaduke?  "  says  he.  "  Far  from 
it!  In  fact,  he  has  a  most  individual  person- 
ality." 

151 


132  ODD  NUMBEES 

"  That  sounds  good,"  says  I;  "  but  does  it 
mean  anything?  Who  is  he,  anyway?  " 

' '  Ask  him,  Shorty,  ask  him, ' '  says  Pinckney, 
and  as  he  turns  to  put  his  coat  on  the  hanger 
I  gets  a  glimpse  of  that  merry  eye-twinkle  of 
his. 

"  Go  on — I'm  easy,"  says  I.  "I'd  look  nice, 
wouldn't  I,  holdin'  a  perfect  stranger  up  for  his 
pedigree?  " 

' '  But  I  assure  you  he  'd  be  pleased  to  give  it, ' ' 
says  Pinckney,  "  and,  more  than  that,  I  want 
to  be  there  to  hear  it  myself." 

"  Well,  you're  apt  to  strain  your  ears  some 
listenin',"  says  I.  "  This  ain't  my  day  for 
askin'  fool  questions." 

You  never  can  tell,  though.  We  hadn't  much 
more'n  got  through  our  mitt  exercise,  and 
Pinckney  was  only  half  into  his  afternoon  tea 
uniform,  when  there's  a  'phone  call  for  him. 
And  the  next  thing  I  know  he's  hustled  into  his 
frock  coat  and  rushed  out. 

Must  have  been  five  minutes  later  when  I 
fin'lly  strolls  into  the  front  office,  to  find  that 
mysterious  Marmaduke  is  still  holdin'  down  the 
chair  and  gazin'  placid  out  onto  42d-st.  It 
looks  like  he'd  been  forgotten  and  hadn't  no- 
ticed the  fact. 

One  of  these  long,  loose  jointed,  languid  actin' 
gents,  Marmaduke  is;  the  kind  that  can  drape 
themselves  careless  and  comf 'table  over  almost 


MARMADUKE  SLIPS  ONE  OVER    153 

any  kind  of  furniture.  He's  a  little  pop  eyed, 
liis  hair  is  sort  of  a  faded  tan  color,  and  he's 
whopper  jawed  on  the  left  side ;  but  beyond  that 
he  didn't  have  any  striking  points  of  facial 
beauty.  It's  what  you  might  call  an  interestin' 
mug,  though,  and  it's  so  full  of  repose  that  it 
seems  almost  a  shame  to  disturb  him. 

Someone  had  to  notify  him,  though,  that  he  'd 
overslept.  I  tried  clearin'  my  throat  and  shuf- 
flin'  niy  feet  to  bring  him  to;  but  that  gets  no 
action  at  all.  So  there  was  nothing  for  it  but 
to  go  over  and  tap  him  on  the  shoulder. 

"  Excuse  me,"  says  I,  "  but  your  friend 
has  gone." 

"  Ah,  quite  so,"  says  he,  still  starin'  out  of 
the  window  and  rabbin'  his  chin.  "  'Tis  a  way 
friends  have.  They  come,  and  they  go.  Quite 
so." 

11  Nobody's  debatin'  that  point,"  says  I; 
"  but  just  now  I  wa'n't  speakin'  of  friends  in 
gen'ral.  I  was  referrin'  to  Pinckney.  He 
didn't  leave  any  word;  but  I  suspicion  he  was 
called  up  by " 

"  Thanks,"  breaks  in  Marmaduke.  "  I  know. 
Mrs.  Purdy-Pell  consults  him  about  dinner  fa- 
vors— tremendous  trifles,  to  be  coped  with  only 
by  a  trained  intelligence.  We  meet  at  the  club 
later." 

1 '  Oh,  that 's  it,  is  it !  "  says  I.    ' '  In  that  case, 


154  ODD  NUMBERS 

make  yourself  to  home.  Have  an  evening  pa- 
per? " 

"  Please  take  it  away,"  says  lie.  "  I  might 
be  tempted  to  read  about  the  beastly  stock 
market. ' ' 

11  Been  taking  a  little  flyer,  eh?  "  says  I. 

1  'What,  I?"  says  he.  "  Why,  I  haven't 
enough  cash  to  buy  a  decent  dinner.  But  every- 
body you  meet  follows  the  market,  you  know. 
It's  a  contagious  disease." 

"  So?  "  says  I.  "  Now  I've  been  exposed  a 
lot  and  haven't  caught  it  very  hard." 

"  Gifted  of  the  gods!  "  says  he. 

"Eh?"  says  I. 

"I'm  Marmaduke,  you  know,"  says  he. 

"  I've  heard  that  much,"  says  I. 

"  To  him  that  hath  ears — mufflers,"  says  he. 

"  Mufflers?  "  says  I.  "I  guess  I  must  be 
missin'  some  of  my  cues,  Mister." 

"  Never  care,"  says  he.  "  Why  cry  over 
spilt  milk  when  one  can  keep  a  cat  1  ' 

"  Look  here!  "  says  I.  "  Are  you  stringin' 
me,  or  am  I  stringin'  you?  ' 

"  Of  what  use  to  fret  the  oracle?  "  says  he. 
"  They  say  silence  is  golden — well,  I've  spent 
mine. ' ' 

And,  say,  he  had  me  doin'  the  spiral  dip  at 
that.  I  don't  mind  indulgin'  in  a  little  foolish 
conversation  now  and  then;  but  I  hate  to  have 
it  so  one  sided.  And,  honest,  so  far  as  I  figured, 


MARMADUKE  SLIPS  ONE  OVER    155 

he  might  have  been  readin'  the  label  off  a  tea 
chest.  So  with  that  I  counters  with  one  of  my 
rough  and  ready  comebacks. 

11  Marmaduke — did  you  say  it  was?  "  says  I. 
"  If  you  did,  where 's  the  can?  ' 

"  By  Jove!    That's  rather  good,  though!  ' 
says  he,  rappin'  the  floor  with  his  stick.    "  A 
little  crude;  but  the  element  is  there.    Brava! 
Bravissimo!  " 

11  Stirred  up  the  pigeons,  anyway, "  says  I. 

"  Pigeons?  "  says  he,  lookin'  puzzled. 

"  Well,  well!  "  says  I.  "  And  he  wants  a 
diagram  for  that  mossy  one !  Loft,  you  know," 
and  I  taps  my  forehead. 

"Almost  worthy  of  nry  steel!  "  says  he, 
jumpin'  up  and  shovin'  out  his  hand.  "  Well 
met,  Brother!  ' 

"  I  don't  know  which  of  us  has  a  call  to  get 
chesty  over  it;  but  here's  how,"  says  I,  takin' 
the  friendly  palm  he  holds  out.  "  Seem'  it's 
gone  this  far,  though,  maybe  you'll  tell  me  who 
in  blazes  you  are !  ' : 

And  there  I'd  gone  and  done  just  what  Pinck- 
ney  had  egged  me  to  do.  Course,  the  minute  I 
asked  the  question  I  knew  I'd  given  him  a  chance 
to  slip  one  over  on  me;  but  I  wa'n't  lookin'  for 
quite  such  a  double  jointed  jolt. 

"  Who  am  I?  "  says  he.  "  Does  it  matter? 
Well,  if  it  does,  I  am  easily  accounted  for.  Be- 
hold an  anachronism!  " 


156  ODD  NUMBERS 

"  A  which?  "  says  I. 

* (  An  anachronism, ' '  says  he  once  more. 

"  I  pass,"  says  I.  "Is  it  part  of  Austria,  or 
just  a  nickname  for  some  alfalfa  district  out 
West?  " 

"Brave  ventures,"  says  he;  "but  vain. 
One's  place  of  birth  doesn't  count  if  one's 
twentieth  century  mind  has  a  sixteenth  century 
attitude.  That's  my  trouble;  or  else  I'm  plain 
lazy,  which  I  don't  in  the  least  admit.  Do  you 
follow  me?  " 

"I'm  dizzy  from  it,"  says  I. 

"  The  confession  is  aptly  put,"  he  goes  on, 
"  and  the  frankness  of  it  does  you  credit.  But 
I  perceive.  You  would  class  me  by  peg  and 
hole.  Well,  I'm  no  peg  for  any  hole.  I  don't 
fit.  On  the  floor  of  life's  great  workshop  I  just 
kick  around.  There  you  have  me — ah — what  ?  ' 

"  Maybe,"  says  I;  "  but  take  my  advice  and 
don't  ever  spring  that  description  on  any  desk 
Sergeant.  It  may  be  good;  but  it  sounds  like 
loose  bearin's." 

1 1  Ah !  ' '  says  he.  ' '  The  metaphor  of  to-mor- 
row !  Speak  on,  Sir  Galahad  1  ' : 

"  All  right,"  says  I.  "I  know  it's  runnin' 
a  risk;  but  I'll  chance  one  more:  What  part  of 
the  map  do  you  hail  from,  Marmaduke?  ' 

"  My  proper  home,"  says  he,  "  is  the  Forest 
of  Arden ;  but  where  that  is  I  know  not. ' ' 

< '  Why, ' '  says  I, ' '  then  you  belong  in  the  new 


MAEMADUKE  SLIPS  ONE  OVER    157 

Harriman  State  Park.  Anyway,  there's  a  sta- 
tion by  that  name  out  on  the  Erie  road." 

"  Rails  never  ran  to  Arden  Wood,"  says  he, 
"  nor  ever  will.  Selah!  " 

"  Sounds  like  an  old  song,"  says  I.  "  Are 
you  taken  this  way  often?  ' 

"I'm  Marmaduke,  you  know,"  says  he. 

' '  Sure,  that 's  where  we  begun, ' '  says  I ; "  but 
it's  as  far  as  we  got.  Is  bein'  Marmaduke  your 
steady  job?  " 

"  Some  would  call  it  so,"  says  he.  "I  try  to 
make  of  it  an  art." 

"  You  win,"  says  I.  "  What  can  I  set 
up?  " 

'  *  Thanks, ' '  says  he.  * '  Pinckney  has  thought- 
lessly taken  his  cigarette  case  with  him." 

So  I  sends  Swifty  out  for  a  box  of  the  most 
expensive  dope  sticks  he  can  find.  Maybe  it 
wouldn't  strike  everybody  that  way;  but  to  me 
it  seemed  like  bein'  entertained  at  cut  rates. 
Next  to  havin'  a  happy  dream  about  nothing  I 
could  remember  afterwards,  I  guess  this  rep- 
artee bout  with  Marmaduke  gets  the  ribbon.  It 
was  like  bio  win'  soap  bubbles  to  music, — sort 
of  soothin'  and  cheerin'  and  no  wear  and 
tear  on  the  brain.  He  stayed  until  closin' 
up  time,  and  I  was  almost  sorry  to  have 
him  go. 

"  Come  around  again,"  says  I,  "  when  the 
fog  is  thinner. ' ' 


158  ODD  NUMBEES 

"I'm  certain  to,"  says  he.  "I'm  Marma- 
duke, you  know." 

And  the  curious  thing  about  that  remark  was 
that  after  you'd  heard  it  four  or  five  times  it 
filled  the  bill.  I  didn't  want  to  know  any  more, 
and  it  was  only  because  Pinckney  insisted  on 
givin'  me  the  details  that  the  mystery  was  partly 
cleared  up. 

"  Well,"  says  he,  "  what  did  you  think  of 
Marmaduke?  " 

'  *  Neither  of  us  did  any  thinkin ', ' '  says  I.  "  I 
just  watched  the  butterflies. ' ? 

"  You  what?  "  says  Pinckney. 

"  Oh,  call  'em  bats,  then!  "  says  I.  "He's 
got  a  dome  full." 

"  You  mean  you  thought  Marmaduke  a  bit 
off  ?  "  says  he.  "  Nothing  of  the  kind,  Shorty. 
Why,  he's  a  brilliant  chap, — Oxford,  Heidel- 
berg, and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  He's  written 
plays  that  no  one  will  put  on,  books  that  no  one 
will  publish,  and  composed  music  that  few  can 
understand. ' ' 

"  I  can  believe  it,"  says  I.  "  Also  he  can  use 
language  that  he  invents  as  he  goes  along.  En- 
tertainin'  cuss,  though." 

"  A  philosopher  souffle,"  says  Pinckney. 

"  Does  it  pay  him  well?  "  says  I. 

"  It's  no  joke,"  says  Pinckney.  "  The  little 
his  father  left  him  is  gone,  and  what's  coming 
from  his  Uncle  Norton  he  doesn't  get  until  the 


MAKMADUKE  SLIPS  ONE  OVER    159 

uncle  dies.  Meanwhile  he's  flat  broke  and  too 
proud  to  beg  or  borrow." 

"  Never  tried  trailin'  a  pay  envelope,  did 
he?  "  says  I. 

"  But  he  doesn't  know  how,"  says  Pinckney. 
"  His  talents  don't  seem  to  be  marketable.  I 
am  trying  to  think  of  something  he  could  do. 
And  did  you  know,  Shorty,  he's  taken  quite  a 
fancy  to  you?  ' 

"  They  all  do,"  says  I;  "  but  Marmaduke's 
easier  to  stand  than  most  of  'em.  Next  time  I'm 
threatened  with  the  willies  I'll  send  for  him  and 
offer  to  hire  him  by  the  hour." 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  didn't  have  to;  for  he 
got  into  the  habit  of  bio  win'  into  the  studio 
every  day  or  two,  and  swappin'  a  few  of  his 
airy  fancies  for  my  mental  short-arm  jabs.  He 
said  it  did  him  good,  and  somehow  or  other  it 
always  chirked  me  up  too. 

And  the  more  I  saw  of  Marmaduke,  the  less 
I  thought  about  the  bats.  Get  under  the  sur- 
face, and  he  wa'n't  nutty  at  all.  He  just  had 
a  free  flow  of  funny  thoughts  and  odd  ways  of 
expressin'  'em.  Most  of  us  are  so  shy  of  let- 
tin'  go  of  any  sentiments  that  can't  be  had  on 
a  rubber  stamp  that  it  takes  a  mighty  small 
twist  to  put  a  person  in  the  queer  class. 

However,  business  is  business,  and  I'd  just 
as  soon  Marmaduke  hadn't  been  on  hand  the 
other  day  when  Pyramid  Gordon  comes  in  with 


160  ODD  NUMBEES 

one  of  his  heavyweight  broker  friends.  Course, 
I  didn't  know  anything  about  the  stranger;  but 
I  know  Pyramid,  and  his  funnybone  was  fos- 
silized years  ago.  Marmaduke  don't  offer  to 
make  any  break,  though.  He  takes  his  fav'rite 
seat  over  by  the  window  and  goes  to  gazin'  out 
and  rubbin'  his  chin. 

Seems  that  Mr.  Gordon  and  his  friend  was 
both  tangled  up  in  some  bank  chain  snarl  that 
was  worryin'  'em  a  lot.  Things  wouldn't  be 
comin'  to  a  head  for  forty-eight  hours  or  so, 
and  meantime  all  they  could  do  was  sit  tight 
and  wait. 

Now,  Pyramid's  programme  in  a  case  of  that 
kind  is  one  I  made  out  for  him  myself.  It's 
simple.  He  comes  to  the  studio  for  an  hour  of 
the  roughest  kind  of  work  we  can  put  through. 
After  that  he  goes  to  his  Turkish  bath,  and  by 
the  time  his  rubber  is  through  with  him  he's 
ready  for  a  private  room  and  a  ten  hours' 
snooze.  That's  what  keeps  the  gray  out  of  his 
cheeks,  and  helps  him  look  a  Grand  Jury  sum- 
mons in  the  face  without  goin'  shaky. 

So  it's  natural  he  recommends  the  same 
course  to  this  Mr.  Gridley  that  he's  brought 
along.  Another  thick-neck,  Gridley  is,  with  the 
same  flat  ears  as  Pyramid,  only  he's  a  little 
shorter  and  not  quite  so  rugged  around  the 
chin. 


"  Here  we  are,  now,"  says  Pyramid,  "  and 
here's  Professor  McCabe,  Gridley.  If  he  can't 
make  you  forget  your  troubles,  you  will  be  the 
first  on  record.  Come  on  in  and  see." 

But  Gridley  he  shakes  his  head.  "  Nothing 
so  strenuous  for  me,"  says  he.  "  My  heart 
wouldn't  stand  it.  I'll  wait  for  you,  though." 

"  Better  come  in  and  watch,  then,"  says  I, 
with  a  side  glance  at  Marmaduke. 

"  No,  thanks;  I  shall  be  quite  as  uncomforta- 
ble here,"  says  Gridley,  and  camps  his  two 
hundred  and  ten  pounds  down  in  my  desk 
chair. 

It  was  a  queer  pair  to  leave  together, — this 
Gridley  gent,  who  was  jugglin'  millions,  and  get- 
tin'  all  kinds  of  misery  out  of  it,  and  Marma- 
duke, calm  and  happy,  with  barely  one  quarter 
to  rub  against  another.  But  of  course  there 
wa'n't  much  chance  of  their  findin'  anything  in 
common  to  talk  about. 

Anyway,  I  was  too  busy  for  the  next  hour  to 
give  'em  a  thought,  and  by  the  time  I'd  got 
Pyramid  breathin'  like  a  leaky  air  valve  and 
glowin'  like  a  circus  poster  all  over,  I'd  clean 
forgot  both  of  'em.  So,  when  I  fin'lly  strolls 
out  absent  minded,  it's  something  of  a  shock 
to  find  'em  gettin'  acquainted,  Marmaduke 
tiltin'  back  careless  in  his  chair,  and  Gridley 
eyin'  him  curious. 

It  appears  that  Pyramid's  friend  has  got  rest- 


162  ODD  NUMBEKS 

less,  discovered  Marmaduke,  and  proceeded  to 
try  to  tell  him  how  near  he  comes  to  bein'  a 
nervous  wreck. 

"  Ever  get  so  yon  couldn't  eat,  couldn't  sleep, 
couldn't  think  of  but  one  thing  over  and  over?  " 
he  was  just  sayin'. 

"  To  every  coat  of  arms,  the  raveled  sleeve 
of  care,"  observes  Marmaduke  sort  of  casual. 

"  Hey?  "  says  Gridley,  facin'  round  on  Tiim 
sharp. 

"  As  the  poet  puts  it,"  Marmaduke  rattles 
on, — 

"  You  cannot  gild  the  lily, 
Nor  can  you  wet  the  sea; 

Pray  tell  me  of  my  Bonnie, 
But  bring  her  not  to  me!  " 

11  Say,  what  the  howling  hyenas  are  you 
spouting  about?  "  snorts  Gridley,  growin'  pur- 
ple back  of  the  ears.  "  Who  in  thunder  are 
you?  ' 

"  Don't!  "  says  I,  holdin'  up  a  warnin'  hand. 
But  I'm  too  late.  Marmaduke  has  bobbed  up 
smilin'. 

11  A  chip  on  the  current,"  says  he.  "  I'm 
Marmaduke,  you  know.  No  offense  meant.  And 
you  were  saying " 

"  Huh!  '  grunts  Gridley,  calmin'  down. 
"  Can't  wet  the  sea,  eh?  Not  so  bad,  young 


MARMADUKE  SLIPS  ONE  OVER    163 

man.  You  can't  keep  it  still,  either.  It's  the 
only  thing  that  puts  me  to  sleep  when  I  get  this 
way. ' ' 

"  Break,  break,  break — I  know,"  says  Mar- 
maduke. 

11  That's  it,"  says  Gridley,  "  hearing  the  surf 
roar.  I'd  open  up  my  seashore  cottage  just  for 
the  sake  of  a  good  night's  rest,  if  it  wasn't  for 
the  blasted  seagulls.  YouVe  heard  'em  in  win- 
ter, haven't  you,  how  they  squeak  around?  ' 

"  It's  their  wing  hinges,"  says  Mannaduke, 
solemn  and  serious. 

"  Eh?  "  says  Gridley,  gawpin'  at  him. 

"  Squeaky  wing  hinges,"  says  Mannaduke. 
"  You  should  oil  them." 

And,  say,  for  a  minute  there,  after  Gridley 
had  got  the  drift  of  that  tomfool  remark,  I 
didn't  know  whether  he  was  goin'  to  throw  Mar- 
maduke  through  the  window,  or  have  another 
fit.  All  of  a  sudden,  though,  he  begins  poundin' 
his  knee. 

"  By  George!  but  that's  rich,  young  man!  " 
says  he.  *  *  Squeaky  gulls '  wing  hinges !  Haw- 
haw!  Oil  'em!  Haw-haw!  How  did  you  ever 
happen  to  think  of  it,  eh?  " 

"  One  sweetly  foolish  thought,"  says  Marina- 
duke.  "I'm  blessed  with  little  else." 

"  Well,  it's  a  blessing,  all  right,"  says  Grid- 
ley.  "  I  have  'em  sometimes;  but  not  so  good 
as  that.  Say,  I'll  have  to  tell  that  to  Gordon 


164  ODD  NUMBERS 

when  he  comes  out.  No,  he  wouldn't  see  any- 
thing in  it.  But  see  here,  Mr.  Marmaduke,  what 
have  you  got  on  for  the  evening,  eh?  " 

"  My  tablets  are  cleaner  than  my  cuffs,"  says 
he. 

"  Good  work!  "  says  Gridley.  "  What  about 
coming  out  and  having  dinner  with  me?  " 

"  With  you  or  any  man,"  says  Marmaduke. 
"  To  dine's  the  thing." 

With  that,  off  they  goes,  leavin'  Pyramid  in 
the  gym.  doorway  strugglin'  with  his  collar. 
Course,  I  does  my  best  to  explain  what's  hap- 
pened. 

"  But  who  was  the  fellow!  "  says  Mr.  Gordon. 

"  Just  Marmaduke,"  says  I,  "  and  if  you 
don't  want  to  get  your  thinker  tied  in  a  double 
bowknot  you'll  let  it  go  at  that.  He's  harmless. 
First  off  I  thought  his  gears  didn't  mesh;  but 
accordin'  to  Pinckney  he's  some  kind  of  a 
philosopher." 

' '  Gridley  has  a  streak  of  that  nonsense  in 
him  too,"  says  Pyramid.  "  I  only  hope  he 
gets  it  all  out  of  his  system  by  to-morrow 
night." 

Well,  from  all  I  could  hear  he  did ;  for  there 
wa'n't  any  scarehead  financial  story  in  the  pa- 
pers, and  I  guess  the  bank  snarl  must  have  been 
straightened  out  all  right.  What  puzzled  me  for 
a  few  days,  though,  was  to  think  what  had  be- 
come of  Marmaduke.  He  hadn't  been  around 


MAEMADUKE  SLIPS  ONE  OVER     165 

to  the  studio  once;  and  Pinckney  hadn't  heard 
a  word  from  him,  either.  Pinckney  had  it  all 
framed  up  how  Marmaduke  was  off  starvin' 
somewhere. 

It  was  only  yesterday,  too,  that  I  looks  up 
from  the  desk  to  see  Marmaduke,  all  got  up  in 
an  entire  new  outfit,  standin'  there  smilin'  and 
chipper. 

"  Well,  well!  "  says  I.  "So  you  didn't  hit 
the  breadline,  after  all!  >: 

"  Perchance  I  deserved  it,"  says  he;  "  but 
there  came  one  from  the  forest  who  willed  other- 
wise. ' ' 

"  Ah,  cut  the  josh  for  a  minute,"  says  I, 
* '  and  tell  us  what  you  landed !  ' 

"  Gladly,"  says  he.  "  I  have  been  made  the 
salaried  secretary  of  the  S.  0.  S.  G.  W.  H." 

"Is  it  a  new  benefit  order,"  says  I,  "or 
what?  " 

"  The  mystic  letters,"  says  he,  "  stand  for 
the  Society  for  Oiling  Squeaky  Gulls'  "Wing 
Hinges.  Mr.  Gridley  is  one  member;  I  am  the 
other. ' ' 

And,  say,  you  may  not  believe  it,  but  hanged 
if  it  wa'n't  a  fact!  He  has  a  desk  in  Gridley 's 
private  office,  and  once  a  day  he  shows  up  there 
and  scribbles  off  a  foolish  thought  on  the  boss's 
calendar  pad.  That's  all,  except  that  he  draws 
down  good  money  for  it. 

Also  I  have  had  word,"  says  Marmaduke, 


. . 


166  ODD  NUMBERS 

"  that  my  aged  Uncle  Norton  is  very  low  of  a 
fever." 

"  Gree!  "  says  I.  "  Some  folks  are  born 
lucky,  though !  ' 

"  And  others,"  says  he,  "in  the  Forest  of 
Arden." 


CHAPTER  XI 

A  LOOK   IN   ON   THE   GOAT   GAME 

PINCKNEY  was  tellin'  me,  here  awhile  back  at 
lunch  one  day,  what  terrors  them  twins  of  his 
was  gettin'  to  be.  He  relates  a  tragic  tale  about 
how  they'd  just  been  requested  to  resign  from 
another  private  school  where  they'd  been  goin' 
as  day  scholars. 

"  That  is  the  third  this  season,"  says  he; 
' '  the  third,  mind  you !  ' : 

"  Well,  there's  more  still,  ain't  there?  " 
says  I. 

11  Brilliant  observation,  Shorty,"  says  he, 
' {  also  logical  and  pertinent.  Yes,  there  are  sev- 
eral others  still  untried  by  the  twins." 

"  What  you  howlin'  about,  then?  "  says  I. 

"  Because,"  says  he,  toyin'  with  the  silver 
frame  that  holds  the  bill  of  fare, ' l  because  it  is 
not  my  intention  to  demoralize  all  the  educa- 
tional institutions  of  this  city  in  alphabetical 
order. ' ' 

"  G'wan!  "  says  I.  "  The  kids  have  got  to  be 
educated  somewhere,  haven't  they?  ' 

"  Which  is  the  sad  part  of  it,"  says  Pinck- 
ney,  inspectin'  the  dish  of  scrambled  eggs  and 

167 


168  ODD  NUMBERS 

asparagus  tips  and  wavin'  the  waiter  to  do  the 
serving  himself.  "  It  means,"  he  goes  on, 
"  having  a  governess  around  the  house,  and 
you  know  what  nuisances  they  can  be. ' ' 

"  Do  If  "  says  I.  "  The  nearest  I  ever  got 
to  havin'  a  governess  was  when  Mrs.  O'Grady 
from  next  door  used  to  come  in  to  use  our  wash- 
tubs  and  I  was  left  with  her  for  the  day.  No- 
body ever  called  her  a  nuisance  and  got  away 
with  it." 

"  What  an  idyllic  youth  to  look  back  upon!  " 
says  he.  "I  can  remember  half  a  dozen,  at 
least,  who  had  a  hand  in  directing  the  course  of 
my  budding  intellect,  and  each  one  of  them  de- 
veloped some  peculiarity  which  complicated  the 
domestic  situation.  I  am  wondering  what  this 
new  governess  of  ours  will  contribute." 

"  Grot  one  on  the  job  already,  eh?  "  says  I. 

* '  This  is  her  third  day, ' '  says  he, ' '  and  if  she 
manages  to  live  through  it  with  the  twins,  I 
shall  have  hope." 

"  Ah,  pickles!  "  says  I.  "  Those  kids  are  all 
right.  They're  full  of  life  and  ginger,  that's 
all." 

"  Especially  ginger,"  says  Pinckney. 

"  What  of  it?  "  says  I.  "  Or  are  you  just 
blowin'  about  'em?  It's  all  right,  they're  a 
great  pair,  and  any  time  you  want  to  entertain 
me  for  half  an  hour,  turn  'em  loose  in  my 
comp  'ny. ' ' 


A  LOOK  IN  ON  THE  GOAT  GAME     169 

'  *  Done !  ' '  says  Pinckney.  ' '  We  '11  take  a  cab 
right  up." 

"  Put  it  off  three  minutes,  can't  you!  "  says 
I,  lookin'  over  the  French  pastry  tray  and 
spearin'  a  frosted  creampuff  that  was  decorated 
up  with  sugar  flowers  until  it  looked  like  a 
bride's  bouquet. 

He  insists  on  callin'  my  bluff,  though;  so  up 
the  avenue  we  goes,  when  I  should  have  been 
hotfootin'  it  back  to  the  studio.  But  I  could  see 
that  Pinckney  was  some  anxious  about  how  the 
kids  was  gettin'  on,  Gertie  being  away  for  the 
day,  and  I  thinks  maybe  I'll  be  useful  in  calmin' 
any  riot  he  might  find  in  progress. 

All  was  quiet  and  peaceful,  though,  as  Pinck- 
ney opens  the  door  with  his  latchkey.  No  howls 
from  upstairs,  no  front  windows  broken,  and  no- 
body slidin'  down  the  banisters.  We  was  just 
waitin'  for  the  automatic  elevator  to  come  down 
when  we  hears  voices  floatin'  out  from  the  lib'ry. 
Pinckney  steps  to  the  doorway  where  he  can  see 
through  into  the  next  room,  and  then  beckons 
me  up  for  a  squint. 

It  wa'n't  the  kids  at  all,  but  a  couple  of  grown- 
ups that  was  both  strangers  to  me.  From  the 
way  the  young  woman  is  dressed  I  could  guess 
she  was  the  new  governess.  Anyway,  she's 
makin'  herself  right  to  home,  so  far  as  enter- 
tainin'  comp'ny  goes;  for  she  and  the  gent  with 
her  is  more  or  less  close  together  and  mixed  up. 


170  ODD  NUMBERS 

First  off  it  looked  like  a  side-hold  lover 's  clinch, 
and  then  again  it  didn't. 

11  Is  it  a  huggin'  match,  or  a  rough-house 
tackle?  "  I  whispered  over  Pinckney 's  shoulder. 

"  I  pass  the  declaration,"  says  he.  "  Sup- 
pose we  investigate." 

With  that  we  strolls  in,  and  we're  within  a 
dozen  feet  of  the  couple  before  they  get  wise 
to  the  fact  that  there's  an  int 'rested  audience. 
I  must  say,  though,  that  they  made  a  clean, 
quick  breakaway.  Then  they  stands,  starin' 
at  us. 

"  Ah,  Miss  Marston!  "  says  Pinckney.  "  Do 
I  interrupt?  " 

1 '  Why — er — er — you  see,  sir, ' '  she  begins,  * '  I 
— that  is — we " 

And  she  breaks  down  with  as  bad  a  case  of 
rattles  as  I  ever  see.  She's  a  nice  lookin',  mod- 
est appearin'  young  woman,  too,  a  little  soft 
about  the  mouth,  but  more  or  less  classy  in  her 
lines.  Her  hair  is  some  mussed,  and  there's 
sort  of  a  wild,  desp'rate  look  in  her  eyes. 

"A  near  relative,  I  presume?'  suggests 
Pinckney,  noddin'  at  the  gent,  who's  takin'  it 
all  cool  enough. 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir,"  gasps  out  the  governess. 
* '  My  husband,  sir. ' ' 

And  the  gent  he  bows  as  easy  and  natural 
as  if  he  was  bein'  introduced  at  an  afternoon 
tea  party.  "  Glad  to  know  you,"  says  he, 


A  LOOK  IN  ON  THE  GOAT  GAME     171 

stickin'  out  his  hand,  which  Pinckney,  bein'  ab- 
sent-minded just  then,  fails  to  see. 

"  Really!  "  says  Pinckney,  lookin'  the  gov- 
erness up  and  down.  ' '  Then  it  Js  not  Miss  Mars- 
ton,  but  Mrs. — er " 

"  Yes,"  says  she,  lettin'  her  chin  drop,  "  Mrs. 
Marston. ' ' 

"  Very  unfortunate,"  says  Pinckney, 
"very!  " 

"  Haw,  haw,  haw!  "  breaks  out  the  strange 
gent,  slappin'  his  knee.  "  I  say  now,  but  that's 
a  good  one,  that  is,  even  if  it  is  at  my  expense ! 
Unfortunate,  eh  I  Perfectly  true  though,  per- 
fectly true !  ' 

Now  it  takes  a  lot  to  get  Pinckney  going ;  but 
for  a  minute  all  he  does  is  turn  and  size  up  this 
husband  party  with  the  keen  sense  of  humor.  I 
had  my  mouth  open  and  my  eyes  bugged  too; 
for  he  don't  look  the  part  at  all.  Why,  he's 
dressed  neat  and  expensive,  a  little  sporty 
maybe,  for  a  real  gent;  but  he  carries  it  off 
well. 

11  Glad  to  have  your  assurance  that  I  was 
right,"  says  Pinckney,  still  givin'  him  the  frosty 
eye. 

"  Oh,  don't  mention  it,"  says  Mr.  Marston. 
"  And  I  trust  you  will  overlook  my  butting  in 
here  to  see  Kitty — er,  Mrs.  Marston.  Little 
matter  of  sentiment  and — well,  business,  you 
know.  I  don't  think  it  will  happen  often." 


172  ODD  NUMBERS 

"  I  am  quite  sure  it  won't,"  says  Pinckney. 
11  And  now,  if  the  interview  has  been  finished, 
I  would  suggest  that " 

"  Oh,  certainly,  certainly!  "  says  Marston, 
edging  towards  the  door.  "  Allow  me,  gentle- 
men, to  bid  you  good-day.  And  I  say,  Kit,  don't 
forget  that  little  matter.  By-by." 

Honest,  if  I  could  make  as  slick  a  backout  as 
that,  without  carryin'  away  anybody's  foot- 
print, I'd  rate  myself  a  headliner  among  the 
trouble  dodgers.  Pinckney,  though,  don't  seem 
to  appreciate  such  talents. 

"  That  settles  governess  No.  1,"  says  he  as 
we  starts  for  the  elevator  again.  "  We  are  be- 
ginning the  series  well." 

That  was  before  he  saw  how  smooth  she  got 
along  with  Jack  and  Jill.  After  she'd  given 
an  exhibition  of  kid  trainin'  that  was  a  wonder, 
he  remarked  that  possibly  he  might  as  well  let 
her  stay  the  week  out. 

"  But  of  course,"  says  he,  "  she  will  have 
to  go.  Hanged  if  I  understand  how  Mrs.  Purdy- 
Pell  happened  to  send  her  here,  either !  Shorty, 
do  you  suppose  Sadie  could  throw  any  light 
on  this  case?  ' 

"  I'll  call  for  a  report,"  says  I. 

Does  Sadie  know  anything  about  the  Mars- 
tons?  Well,  rather !  Says  she  told  me  all  about 
'em  at  the  time  too ;  but  if  she  did  it  must  have 
got  by.  Anyway,  this  was  just  a  plain,  simple 


A  LOOK  IN  ON  THE  GOAT  GAME     173 

case  of  a  worthless  son  marryin'  the  fam'ly  gov- 
erness and  bein'  thrown  out  for  it  by  a  stern 
parent,  same  as  they  always  are  in  them  Eng- 
lish novels  Sadie's  forever  readin'. 

The  Marstons  was  Madison-ave.  folks,  which 
means  that  their  back  yard  was  bounded  on  the 
west  by  the  smart  set — and  that's  as  far  as 
there's  any  need  of  going.  The  girl  comes  from 
'Frisco  and  is  an  earthquake  orphan.  Hence 
the  governess  stunt.  As  for  young  Marston, 
he'd  been  chucked  out  of  college,  tried  out  for 
a  failure  in  the  old  man's  brokerage  office,  and 
then  left  to  drift  around  town  on  a  skimpy  al- 
lowance. So  he  was  in  fine  shape  to  get  mar- 
ried! The  girl  sticks  to  him,  though,  until 
there's  trouble  with  the  landlady,  and  then, 
when  he  only  turns  ugly  and  makes  no  move  to- 
wards gettin'  a  job,  she  calls  it  off,  gives  him 
the  slip,  and  begins  rustlin'  for  herself. 

"  Oh,  well,"  says  Pinckney,  "  I  suppose  she 
ought  to  have  a  chance.  But  if  that  husband  of 
hers  is  going  to ' ' 

"  Next  time  you  catch  him  at  it,"  says  I, 
"  just  'phone  down  for  me.  It'll  be  a  pleas- 
ure." 

I  meant  it  too;  for  after  hearing  how  she'd 
lost  other  places  on  account  of  his  hangin' 
around  I  could  have  enjoyed  mussin'  him  up 
some. 

With  my  feelin'  that  way,  you  can  guess  what 


174  ODD  NUMBERS 

a  jar  it  is,  one  afternoon  when  I'm  having  a 
little  front  office  chat  with  my  old  reg'lar,  Pyra- 
mid Gordon,  to  see  this  same  gent  blow  in 
through  the  door.  Almost  looked  like  he  knew 
what  he  ought  to  get  and  had  come  after  it. 

"  Well?  "  says  I  as  chilly  as  I  knew  how. 

"  Quite  so,"  says  he,  "  quite  so.  I  see  you 
remember  our  recent  meeting.  Awkward  situa- 
tion for  a  moment,  wasn't  it,  eh!  Splendid  chap, 
though,  your  friend " 

"  Say,  choke  off  the  hot  air,"  says  I,  "  and 
let's  hear  what  gave  you  the  courage  to  climb 
those  stairs!  " 

And  what  do  you  guess?  He  takes  five  min- 
utes of  steady  chinnin'  to  get  around  to  it;  but 
he  puts  over  such  a  velvety  line  of  talk,  and  it's 
so  int'restin'  to  watch  him  do  it,  that  I  let  him 
spiel  ahead  until  he  gets  to  the  enactin'  clause 
in  his  own  way.'  And  it's  nothing  more  or  less 
than  a  brassy  fingered  touch  for  a  twenty,  all 
based  on  the  fact  that  he  met  me  at  a  house 
where  his  wife's  drawin'  wages. 

"  Mr.  Gordon,"  says  I,  turnin'  to  Pyramid, 
who's  heard  it  all,  "  what  do  you  think  of  that, 
anyway?  v 

"  Very  neat,  indeed,"  says  Pyramid,  chuck- 
lin'. 

"  And  then  a  few!  "  says  I.  "I  can  almost 
see  myself  givin'  up  that  twenty  right  off  the 
bat.  Nothing  but  great  presence  of  mind  and 


A  LOOK  IN  ON  THE  GOAT  GAME     175 

wonderful  self-control  holds  me  back.  But  look 
here,  Mr.  What  's-your-name " 

"  Marston,"  says  he,  flashin'  an  engraved  vis- 
itin'  card,  "  L.  Egbert  Marston." 

1 '  L.  Egbert,  eh  ?  "  says  I.  < «  Does  the  L  stand 
for  Limed?  And  what  do  they  call  you  for 
short— Eggie?  " 

* '  Oh,  suit  yourself, ' '  says  he,  with  a  careless 
wave  of  the  hand. 

"  All  right,  Eggie,"  says  I;  "  but  before  we 
get  in  any  deeper  I've  got  a  conundrum  or  two 
to  spring  on  you.  We  got  kind  of  curious, 
Pinckney  and  me,  about  that  visit  of  yours.  He 
thinks  we  disturbed  a  fond  embrace.  It  looked 
diff 'rent  to  me.  I  thought  I  could  see  finger- 
marks on  the  young  lady's  throat.  How  about 
it?" 

Course  he  flushes  up.  Any  man  would  under 
a  jab  like  that,  and  I  looked  for  him  either  to 
begin  breakin'  the  peace  or  start  lyin'  out  of 
it.  There's  considerable  beef  to  Egbert,  you 
know.  He  'd  probably  weigh  in  at  a  hundred  and 
eighty,  with  all  that  flabby  meat  on  him,  and  if 
it  wa'n't  for  that  sort  of  cheap  look  to  his  face 
you  might  take  him  for  a  real  man.  But  ne 
don't  show  any  more  fight  than  a  cow.  He  don't 
even  put  in  any  indignant  "  Not  guilty!  ':  He 
just  shrugs  his  shoulders  and  indulges  in  a 
sickly  laugh. 

"  It  doesn't  sound  nice,"  says  he;  "  but  some- 


176  ODD  NUMBERS 

times  they  do  need  a  bit  of  training,  these 
women. ' ' 

* '  For  instance  1  ' '  says  I.  "In  the  matter  of 
handing  over  a  little  spendin'  money,  eh?  ' 

"  You've  struck  it,"  says  he,  with  another 
shrug. 

I  glances  at  Pyramid;  but  there  wa'n't  any 
more  expression  to  that  draw  poker  face  of  his 
than  as  if  it  was  a  cement  block. 

"  Egbert,"  says  I,  frank  and  confidential, 
*  *  you  're  a  sweet  scented  pill,  ain  't  you  ?  ' 

And  does  that  draw  any  assault  and  battery 
motions!  It  don't.  All  the  result  is  to  narrow 
them  shifty  eyes  of  his  and  steady  'em  down 
until  he's  lookin'  me  square  in  the  face. 

t  i  I  was  hard  up,  if  you  want  to  know, ' '  says 
he.  "I  didn't  have  a  dollar." 

1  *  And  that, ' '  -says  I,  "is  what  you  give  out 
as  an  excuse  for " 

"  Yes,"  he  breaks  in.  "  And  I'm  no  worse 
than  lots  of  other  men,  either.  With  money, 
I'm  a  gentleman;  without  it — well,  I  get  it  any 
way  I  can.  And  I  want  to  tell  you,  I've  seen 
men  with  plenty  of  it  get  more  in  meaner  ways. 
I  don't  know  how  to  juggle  stocks,  or  wreck 
banks,  or  use  any  of  the  respectable  methods 
that " 

"  Nothing  personal,  I  hope,"  puts  in  Mr.  Gor- 
don, with  another  chuckle. 

"  Not  so  intended,"  says  Marston. 


A  LOOK  IN  ON  THE  GOAT  GAME     177 

"  Eh,  thanks,"  says  Pyramid. 

"  We'll  admit,"  says  I,  "  that  your  partic'lar 
way  of  raisin'  funds,  Mr.  Marston,  ain't  exactly 
novel ;  but  didn  't  it  ever  occur  to  you  that  some 
folks  get  theirs  by  workin'  for  it?  ' 

"  I  know,"  says  he,  tryin'  to  seem  good  na- 
tured  again;  "  but  I'm  not  that  kind.  I'm  an 
idler.  As  some  poet  has  put  it,  '  Useless  I  lin- 
ger, a  cumberer  here.' 

"  You're  a  cucumber,  all  right,"  says  I;  "  but 
why  not,  just  for  a  change,  make  a  stab  at  get- 
tin'  a  job!  " 

"  I've  had  several,"  says  he,  "  and  never 
could  hold  one  more  than  a  week.  Too  mo- 
notonous, for  one  thing;  and  then,  in  these  of- 
fices, one  is  thrown  among  so  many  ill  bred  per- 
sons, you  know. ' ' 

"  Sure!  ':  says  I,  feelin'  my  temper 'ture 
risin'.  "  Parties  that  had  rather  work  for  a 
pay  envelope  than  choke  their  wives.  I've  met 
'em.  I've  heard  of  your  kind  too,  Egbert;  but 
you're  the  first  specimen  I  ever  got  real  close 
to.  And  you're  a  bird!  Mr.  Gordon,  shall  I 
chuck  him  through  the  window,  or  help  him 
downstairs  with  my  toe!  ' 

11  I  wouldn't  do  either,"  says  Pyramid.  "  In 
fact,  I  think  I  can  make  use  of  this  young  man." 

"  Then  you're  welcome  to  him,"  says  I. 
"  Blaze  ahead." 

* '  Much  obliged, ' '  says  Pyramid.    ' '  Now,  Mr. 


178  ODD  NUMBERS 

Marston,  what  is  the  most  reasonable  sum,  per 
month,  that  would  allow  you  to  carry  out  your 
idea  of  being  a  gentleman?  ' 

Egbert  thinks  that  over  a  minute  and  then 
puts  it  at  three  hundred. 

"  And  would  it  conflict  with  those  ideas, " 
Pyramid  goes  on,  "  if  you  were  required,  say 
twice  a  week,  to  spend  an  hour  in  a  private  of- 
fice, signing  your  name?  ' 

Egbert  thinks  he  could  stand  that. 

"  Very  well,  then,"  says  Pyramid,  producin' 
his  checkbook  and  gettin'  busy  with  the  fountain 
pen,  "  here  is  your  first  month 's  salary  in  ad- 
vance. Whenever  you  find  it  convenient  during 
the  week,  report  at  my  offices.  Ask  for  Mr. 
Bradley.  Yes,  Bradley.  That's  all,"  and  Pyra- 
mid lights  up  one  of  his  torches  as  satisfied  as 
though  he'd  just  bought  in  a  Senator, 

As  for  Egbert;  he  stows  the  check  away,  taps 
me  on  the  shoulder,  and  remarks  real  friendly, 
"  Well,  professor,  no  hard  feelings,  I  hope?  ' 

"  Say,  Eggie,"  says  I,  "  seems  to  me  I  ex- 
pressed myself  once  on  that  point,  and  I  ain't 
had  any  sudden  change  of  heart.  If  I  was  you 
I'd  beat  while  the  beatin's  good." 

Egbert  laughs ;  but  he  takes  the  advice. 

"  Huh!  "  says  I  to  Pyramid.  "  I  expect 
that's  your  notion  of  making  a  funny  play, 
eh?  " 

"  I'm  no  humorist,  Shorty,"  says  he. 


A  LOOK  IN  ON  THE  GOAT  GAME     179 

' '  Then  what 's  the  idea  ?  ' '  says  I.  ' <  What  do 
you  mean  ?  ' 

"  I  never  mean  anything  but  cold,  straight 
business,"  says  he.  "  That's  the  only  game 
worth  playing." 

"  So?  "  says  I.  "  Then  here's  where  you  got 
let  in  bad  with  your  eyes  open.  You  heard  him 
tell  how  useless  he  was?  " 

"  I  did,"  says  Pyramid;  "  but  I  always  do 
my  own  appraising  when  I  hire  men.  I  antici- 
pate finding  Mr.  Marston  somewhat  useful. ' ' 

And  say,  that's  all  I  can  get  out  of  Pyramid 
on  the  subject ;  for  when  it  comes  to  business, 
he's  about  as  chatty  over  his  plans  as  a  hard 
shell  clam  on  the  suffragette  question.  I've 
known  him  to  make  some  freak  plans ;  but  this 
move  of  pickin'  out  a  yellow  one  like  Egbert 
and  rewardin'  him  as  if  he  was  a  Carnegie 
medal  winner  beat  anything  he'd  ever  sprung 
yet. 

It's  no  bluff,  either.  I  hears  of  this  Marston 
gent  sportin'  around  at  the  clubs,  and  it  wa'n't 
until  I  accident 'lly  run  across  an  item  on  the 
Wall  Street  page  that  I  gets  any  more  details. 
He  shows  up,  if  you  please,  as  secretary  of  the 
Consolidated  Holding  Company  that  there's 
been  so  much  talk  about.  I  asks  Pinckney  what 
kind  of  an  outfit  that  was;  but  he  don't 
know. 

"  Huh!  "  says  I.    "  All  I'd  feel  safe  in  givin' 


180  ODD  NUMBERS 

Egbert  to  hold  for  me  would  be  one  end  of  the 
Brooklyn  Bridge." 

"  I  don't  care  what  he  holds,"  says  Pinckney, 
"  if  he  will  stay  away  from  our  little  governess. 
She's  a  treasure." 

Seems  Mrs.  Marston  had  been  doin'  some 
great  tricks  with  the  twins,  not  only  keep  in' 
'em  from  marrin'  the  furniture,  but  teachin'  'em 
all  kinds  of  knowledge  and  improvin'  their  table 
manners,  until  it  was  almost  safe  to  have  'era 
down  to  luncheon  now  and  then. 

But  her  life  was  being  made  miser'ble  by  the 
prospect  of  havin'  Egbert  show  up  any  day  and 
create  a  row.  She  confided  the  whole  tale  to 
Sadie,  how  she  was  through  with  Marston  for 
good,  but  didn't  dare  tell  him  so,  and  how  she 
sent  him  most  of  her  salary  to  keep  him 
away. 

"  The  loafer!  "  says  I.  "  And  think  of  the 
chance  I  had  at  him  there  in  the  studio! 
Hanged  if  I  don't  get  even  with  Pyramid  for 
that,  though!  " 

But  I  didn't.  Mr.  Gordon's  been  too  busy 
this  season  to  show  up  for  any  trainin',  and 
it  was  only  here  the  other  day  that  I  runs  across 
him  in  the  street. 

"  Well,"  says  I,  "  how's  that  work  scornin' 
pet  of  yours  gettin'  on  these  days?  ' 

"  Marston?  "  says  he.  "  Why,  haven't  you 
heard?  Mr.  Marston  is  away  on  a  vacation." 


A  LOOK  IN  ON  THE  GOAT  GAME     181 

''Vacation!"  says  I.  "He  needs  it,  he 
does!  " 

"  The  company  thought  so,"  says  Pyramid. 
"  They  gave  him  six  months'  leave  with  pay. 
He 's  hunting  reindeer  or  musk  ox  somewhere  up 
in  British  Columbia." 

"  Him  a  hunter?  "  says  I.    "  G'wan!  " 

Pyramid  grins.  ' '  He  did  develop  a  liking  for 
the  wilderness  rather  suddenly,"  says  he;  "  but 
that  is  where  he  is  now.  In  fact,  I  shouldn't  be 
surprised  if  he  stayed  up  there  for  a  year  or 
more. ' ' 

"  What's  the  joke?  "  says  I,  catchin'  a  flicker 
in  them  puffy  eyes  of  Pyramid's. 

"  Why,  just  this,"  says  he.  "  Mr.  Marston, 
you  know,  is  secretary  of  the  Consolidated  Hold- 
ing Company." 

"  Yes,  I  read  about  that,"  says  I.  "  What 
then?  " 

"  It  pains  me  to  state,"  says  Mr.  Gordon, 
' '  that  in  his  capacity  of  secretary  Mr.  Marston 
seems  to  have  sanctioned  transactions  which 
violate  the  Interstate  Commerce  act." 

' '  Ah-ha !  ' '  says  I.  * '  Turned  crooked  on  you, 
did  he?  " 

"  We  are  not  sure  as  yet,"  says  Pyramid. 
"  The  federal  authorities  are  anxious  to  settle 
that  point  by  examining  certain  files  which  ap- 
pear to  be  missing.  They  even  asked  me  about 
them.  Perhaps  you  didn't  notice,  Shorty,  that 


182  ODD  NUMBERS 

I  was  cross-examined  for  five  hours,  one  day  last 
week. ' ' 

"  I  don't  read  them  muck  rakin'  articles/' 
says  I. 

"  Quite  right,"  says  Pyramid.  "  Well,  I 
couldn't  explain;  for,  as  their  own  enterprising 
detectives  discovered,  when  Mr.  Marston 
boarded  the  Montreal  Express  his  baggage  in- 
cluded a  trunk  and  two  large  cases.  Odd  of 
him  to  take  shipping  files  on  a  hunting  trip, 
wasn't  it?  "  and  Pyramid  tips  me  the  slow 
wink. 

I'm  more  or  less  of  a  thickhead  when  it 
comes  to  flossy  finance;  but  I've  seen  enough 
plain  flimflam  games  to  know  a  few  things.  And 
the  wink  clinched  it.  "  Mr.  Gordon,"  says  I, 
"  for  a  Mr.  Smooth  you've  got  a  greased  pig  in 
the  warthog  class.  But  suppose  Egbert  gets 
sick  of  the  woods  and  hikes  himself  back  ?  What 
then?  " 

"  Jail,"  says  Pyramid,  shruggin'  his  sable 
collar  up  around  his  ears.  "  That  would  be 
rather  deplorable  too.  Bright  young  man, 
Marston,  in  many  ways,  and  peculiarly  adapted 
for " 

"  Yes,  I  know  the  part,"  says  I.  "  They 
gen 'rally  spells  it  g-o-a-t." 


CHAPTER  XII 

MRS.    TRUCKLES'   BROAD   JUMP 

do  you  imagine  Kitty  Marston  settles 
down  to  a  life  job  after  that?  Not  her.  At 
the  very  next  pay  day  she  hands  in  her  two 
weeks'  notice,  and  when  they  pin  her  right  down 
to  facts  she  admits  weepy  that  she  means  to 
start  out  lookin'  for  Egbert.  Now  wouldn't 
that  crust  you? 

Course,  the  sequel  to  that  is  another  gov- 
erness hunt  which  winds  up  with  Madame  Rou- 

laire.  And  say,  talk  about  your  queer  cases 

But  you  might  as  well  have  the  details. 

You  see,  until  Aunt  Martha  arrived  on  the 
scene  this  Madame  Eoulaire  business  was  only 
a  fam'ly  joke  over  to  Pinckney's,  with  all  of  us 
in  on  it  more  or  less.  But  Aunt  Martha  ain't 
been  there  more'n  three  or  four  days  before 
she's  dug  up  mystery  and  scandal  and  tragedy 
enough  for  another  one  of  them  French  dope 
dramas. 

"  In  my  opinion,"  says  she,  "  that  woman  is 
hiding  some  dreadful  secret!  " 

But  Mrs.  Pinckney  only  smiles  in  that  calm, 
placid  way  of  hers.  You  know  how  easy  she  took 

183 


184  ODD  NUMBERS 

things  when  she  was  Miss  Geraldine  and  Pinck- 
ney  found  her  on  the  steamer  in  charge  of  the 
twins  that  had  been  willed  to  him1?  Well,  she 
ain't  changed  a  bit;  and,  with  Pinckney  such 
a  brilliant  member  of  the  Don't  Worry  Fra- 
ternity, whatever  frettin'  goes  on  in  that  house 
has  to  be  done  by  volunteers. 

Aunt  Martha  acts  like  she  was  wise  to  this; 
for  she  starts  right  in  to  make  up  for  lost  op- 
portunities, and  when  she  spots  this  freaky 
lookin'  governess  she  immediately  begins 
scoutin'  for  trouble.  Suspicions?  She  delivers 
a  fresh  lot  after  every  meal! 

"  Humph!  "  says  she.  "  Madame  Roulaire, 
indeed!  Well,  I  must  say,  she  looks  as  little 
like  a  Frenchwoman  as  any  person  I  ever  saw ! 
How  long  have  you  had  her,  Geraldine  ?  What, 
only  two  months?  Did  she  bring  written  refer- 
ences, and  did  you  investigate  them  carefully!  ' 

She  wouldn't  let  up,  either,  until  she'd  been 
assured  that  Madame  Eoulaire  had  come  from 
service  in  an  English  fam'ly,  and  that  they'd 
written  on  crested  notepaper  indorsin'  her  in 
every  point,  giving  her  whole  hist'ry  from  child- 
hood up. 

"  But  she  hasn't  the  slightest  French  accent," 
insists  Aunt  Martha. 

"  I  know,"  says  Mrs.  Pinckney.  "  She  lived 
in  England  from  the  time  she  was  sixteeen,  and 
of  course  twenty  years  away  from  one's " 


MRS.  TRUCKLES'  BROAD  JUMP    185 

"  Does  she  claim  to  be  only  thirty-six?  "  ex- 
claims Aunt  Martha.  "  Why,  she's  fifty  if  she's 
a  day!  Besides,  I  don't  like  that  snaky  way 
she  has  of  watching  everyone." 

There  was  no  denyin',  either,  that  this  Rou- 
laire  party  did  have  a  pair  of  shifty  eyes  in 
her  head.  I'd  noticed  that  much  myself  in  the 
few  times  I'd  seen  her.  They  wa'n't  any  par- 
ticular color  you  could  name, — sort  of  a  greeny 
gray-blue, — but  they  sure  was  bright  and  rest- 
less. You'd  never  hear  a  sound  out  of  her,  for 
she  didn't  let  go  of  any  remarks  that  wa'n't 
dragged  from  her ;  but  somehow  you  felt,  from 
the  minute  you  got  into  the  room  until  she'd 
made  a  gumshoe  exit  by  the  nearest  door,  that 
them  sleuthy  lamps  never  quite  lost  sight  of  you. 

That  and  her  smile  was  the  main  points  about 
her.  I've  seen  a  lot  of  different  kinds  of  smiles, 
ineanin'  and  unmeanin';  but  this  chronic  half- 
smirk  of  Madame  Roulaire's  was  about  the  most 
unconvincin'  performance  I've  ever  watched. 
Why,  even  a  blind  man  could  tell  she  didn't 
really  mean  it!  Outside  of  that,  she  was  just 
a  plain,  pie  faced  sort  of  female  with  shrinkin', 
apologizin'  ways  and  a  set  of  store  teeth  that 
didn't  fit  any  too  well;  but  she  wa'n't  one  that 
you'd  suspect  of  anything  more  tragic  than 
eatin'  maraschino  cherries  on  the  sly,  or  swap- 
pin'  household  gossip  with  the  cook. 

That  wa'n't  the  way  Martha  had  her  sized 


186  ODD  NUMBERS 

up,  though,  and  of  course  there  was  no  keepin* 
her  inquisitive  nose  out  of  the  case.  First  thing 
anyone  knew,  she'd  backed  Madame  Roulaire 
into  a  corner,  put  her  through  the  third  degree, 
and  come  trottin'  back  in  triumph  to  Mrs. 
Pinckney. 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you?  "  says  she.  "  French! 
Bosh!  Perhaps  you  haven't  asked  her  about 
Auberge-sur-Mer,  where  she  says  she  was 
born?  " 

Greraldine  admits  that  she  ain't  done  much 
pumpin'. 

"  Well,  I  have,"  says  Aunt  Martha,  "  and 
she  couldn't  tell  me  a  thing  about  the  place  that 
was  so.  I  spent  ten  days  there  only  two  years 
ago,  and  remember  it  perfectly.  She  isn't  any 
more  French  than  I  am." 

"  Oh,  what  'of  it?  '  says  Mrs.  Pinckney. 
(l  She  gets  along  splendidly  with  the  twins. 
They  think  the  world  of  her." 

"  But  she's  thoroughly  deceitful,"  Aunt 
Martha  comes  back.  "  She  misrepresents  her 
age,  lies  about  her  birthplace,  and — and  she 
wears  a  transformation  wig." 

11  Yes,  I  had  noticed  the  brown  wig,"  admits 
Mrs.  Pinckney;  "  but  they're  quite  common." 

"  So  are  women  poisoners,"  snaps  Martha. 
* '  Think  of  what  happened  to  the  Briggses,  aftei 
they  took  in  that  strange  maid!  Then  therfe 
was  the  Madame  Catossi  case,  over  in  Flor- 


MES.  TRUCKLES'  BEOAD  JUMP     187 

ence  last  year.    They  were  warned  about  her, 
you  remember." 

And  maybe  you  know  how  a  good  lively  sus- 
pecter  can  get  results  when  she  keeps  folio  win' 
it  up.  They  got  to  watchin'  the  governess  close 
when  she  was  around,  and  noticin'  all  the  lit- 
tle slips  in  her  talk  and  the  crab-like  motions 
she  made  in  dodgin'  strangers.  That  appears 
to  make  her  worse  than  ever,  too.  She'd  get 
fussed  every  time  anyone  looked  her  way,  and 
just  some  little  question  about  the  children 
would  make  her  jump  and  color  up  like  she'd 
been  accused  of  burnin'  a  barn.  Even  Sadie, 
who'd  been  standin'  up  for  her  right  along, 
begins  to  weaken. 

"  After  all,"  says  she,  "I'm  not  sure  there 
isn't  something  queer  about  that  woman." 

11  Ah,  all  governesses  are  queer,  ain't  they?  ' 
says  I;  "  but  that  ain't  any  sign  they've  done 
time  or  are  in  the  habit  of  dosin'  the  coffeepot 
with  arsenic.  It's  Aunt  Martha  has  stirred 
all  this  mess  up,  and  she'd  make  the  angel 
Gabriel  prove  who  he  was  by  bio  win'  bugle 
calls." 

It  was  only  next  day,  though,  that  we  gets  a 
report  of  what  happens  when  Pinckney  runs 
across  this  Sir  Carpenter-Podmore  at  the  club 
and  lugs  him  out  to  dinner.  He's  an  English 
gent  Pinckney  had  known  abroad.  Comin'  in 
unexpected  that  way,  him  and  Madame  Eoulaire 


188  ODD  NUMBERS 

had  met  face  to  face  in  the  hall,  while  the  in- 
troductions was  bein'  passed  out — and  what 
does  she  do  but  turn  putty  colored  and  shake 
like  she  was  havin'  a  fit! 

"  Ah,  Truckles?  "  says  Podmore,  sort  of  cor- 
dial. 

"  No,  no!  "  she  gasps.  "  Roulaire!  I  am 
Madame  Roulaire!  ' 

"  Beg  pardon,  I'm  sure,"  says  Sir  Carpenter, 
lift-in*  his  eyebrows  and  passin'  on. 

That  was  all  there  was  to  it;  but  everyone 
in  the  house  heard  about  it.  Course  Aunt 
Martha  jumps  right  in  with  the  question  marks ; 
but  all  she  gets  out  of  Podmore  is  that  he  pre- 
sumes he  was  mistaken. 

"  Well,  maybe  he  was,"  says  I.  "  Why 
not!  " 

"  Then  you  haven't  heard,"  says  Sadie, 
"  that  Sir  Carpenter  was  for  a  long  time  a 
Judge  on  the  criminal  bench." 

"  Z-z-z-zing!  "  says  I.  "  Looks  kind  of 
squally  for  the  governess,  don't  it?  ' 

If  it  hadn't  been  for  Pinckney,  too,  Aunt 
Martha 'd  had  her  thrown  out  that  night;  but 
he  wouldn't  have  it  that  way. 

"  I've  never  been  murdered  in  my  bed,  or 
been  fed  on  ground  glass,"  says  he,  "  and — who 
knows? — I  might  like  the  sensation." 

Say,  there's  more  sides  to  that  Pinckney  than 
there  are  to  a  cutglass  paperweight.  You 


MES.  TEUCKLES'  BEOAD  JUMP.    189 

might  think,  with  him  such  a  Eeggie  chap,  that 
liavin'  a  suspicious  character  like  that  around 
would  get  on  his  nerves;  but,  when  it  comes  to 
applyin'  the  real  color  test,  there  ain't  any 
more  yellow  in  him  than  in  a  ball  of  bluin',  and 
he  can  be  as  curious  about  certain  things  as  a 
kid  investigatin'  the  animal  cages. 

Eather  than  tie  the  can  to  Madame  Eoulaire 
without  gettin'  a  straight  line  on  her,  he  was 
willin'  to  run  chances.  And  it  don't  make  any 
diff  'rence  to  him  how  much  Aunt  Martha  croaks 
about  this  and  that,  and  suggests  how  dreadful 
it  is  to  think  of  those  dear,  innocent  little  chil- 
dren exposed  to  such  evil  influences.  That  last 
item  appeals  strong  to  Mrs.  Pinckney  and  Sadie, 
though. 

"  Of  course,"  says  Geraldine,  "  the  twins 
don't  suspect  a  thing  as  yet,  and  whatever  we 
discover  must  be  kept  from  them." 

"  Certainly,"  says  Sadie,  "  the  poor  little 
dears  mustn't  know." 

So  part  of  the  programme  was  to  keep  them 
out  of  her  way  as  much  as  possible  without 
actually  callin'  her  to  the  bench,  and  that's  what 
fetched  me  out  there  early  the  other  afternoon. 
It  was  my  turn  at  protectin'  innocent  childhood. 
I  must  say,  though,  it's  hard  realizin'  they  need 
anything  of  that  sort  when  you're  within  reach 
of  that  Jack  and  Jill  combination.  Most  people 
seem  to  feel  the  other  way ;  but,  while  their  so- 


190  ODD  NUMBERS 

ciety  is  apt  to  be  more  or  less  strenuous,  I  can 
gen 'rally  stand  an  hour  or  so  of  it  without 
collectin'  any  broken  bones. 

As  usual,  they  receives  me  with  an  ear  split- 
tin T  whoop,  and  while  Jill  gives  me  the  low 
tackle  around  the  knees  Jack  proceeds  to  climb 
up  my  back  and  twine  his  arms  affectionate 
around  my  neck. 

"  Hey,  Uncle  Shorty, "  they  yells  in  chorus, 
' '  come  play  Wild  West  with  us !  ' 

"  G'wan,  you  young  terrors !  "  says  I,  luggin' 
'em  out  on  the  lawn  and  dumpin'  'em  on  the 
grass.  "  Think  I'd  risk  my  neck  at  any  such 
game  as  that?  Hi!  leggo  that  necktie  or  I'll 
put  on  the  spanks!  Say,  ain't  you  got  any 
respect  for  company  clothes?  Now  straighten 
up  quiet  and  tell  me  about  the  latest  deviltry 
you've  been  up  to." 

"  Pooh!  "  says  Jill.  "  We're  not  afraid  of 
you." 

"  And  we  know  why  you're  here  to-day,  too," 
says  Jack. 

"Do  you?  "  says  I.  "  Well,  let's  have 
it." 

"  You're  on  guard,"  says  Jill,  "  keeping  us 
away  from  old  Clicky." 

"  Old  Clicky?  "  says  I. 

"  Uh-huh,"  says  Jack.  "  The  goosy  govern- 
ess, you  know." 

Eh?  "  says  I,  openin'  my  eyes. 


i  t 


MRS.  TRUCKLES'  BROAD  JUMP    191 

"  We  call  her  that,"  says  Jill,  "  because  her 
teeth  click  so  when  she  gets  excited.  At  night 
she  keeps  'em  in  a  glass  of  water.  Do  you  sup- 
pose they  click  then?  " 

"  Her  hair  comes  off  too,"  says  Jack,  "  and 
it 's  all  gray  underneath,  "We  fished  it  off  once, 
and  she  was  awful  mad. ' ' 

"  You  just  ought  to  hear  her  when  she  gets 
mad,"  says  Jill.  "  She  drops  her  H's." 

"  She  don't  do  it  before  folks,  though,"  says 
Jack,  "  'cause  she  makes  believe  she's  French. 
She's  awful  good  to  us,  though,  and  we  love 
her  just  heaps." 

"  You've  got  queer  ways  of  showin'  it," 
says  L 

"  What  makes  Aunt  Martha  so  scared  of 
her!  "  says  JilL  "  Do  you  think  it's  so  she 
would  really  and  truly  murder  us  all  and  run 
off  with  the  jewelry,  or  that  she'd  let  in  burglars 
after  dark?  She  meets  someone  every  Thurs- 
day night  by  the  side  gate,  you  know." 

"  A  tall  woman  with  veils  over  her  face," 
adds  Jack.  "  We  hid  in  the  bushes  and  watched 
'em." 

"  Say,  for  the  love  of  Mike,"  says  I,  "is 
there  anything  about  your  governess  you  kids 
haven't  heard  or  seen?  What  more  do  you 
know?  " 

"  Lots,"  says  Jill.  "  She's  scared  of  Marie, 
the  new  maid.  Marie  makes  her  help  with  the 


192  ODD  NUMBERS 

dishes,  and  make  up  her  own  bed,  and  wait  on 
herself  all  the  time.'7 

"  And  she  has  to  study  beforehand  all  the 
lessons  she  makes  us  learn,"  says  Jack.  "  She 
studies  like  fun  every  night  in  her  room,  and 
when  we  ask  questions  from  the  back  of  the 
book  she  don't  know  the  answers." 

' '  She 's  been  too  scared  to  study  or  anything, 
ever  since  Monday,"  says  Jill.  "  Do  you  think 
they'll  have  a  policeman  take  her  away  before 
she  poisons  us  all?  We  heard  Aunt  Martha 
say  they  ought  to." 

Say,  they  had  the  whole  story,  and  more  too. 
If  there  was  anything  about  Madame  Eoulaire's 
actions,  her  past  hist  'ry,  or  what  people  thought 
of  her  that  had  got  by  these  two,  I'd  like  to 
know  what  it  was. 

"  Gee!  "  says  I.  "  Talk  about  protectin' 
you!  What  you  need  most  is  a  pair  of  gags 
and  some  blinders.  Now  trot  along  off  and  do 
your  worst,  while  I  look  up  Pinckney  and  give 
him  some  advice." 

I  was  strollin'  through  the  house  lookin'  for 
him,  and  I'd  got  as  far  as  the  lib'ry,  when  who 
should  I  see  but  Madame  Roulaire  comin' 
through  the  opposite  door.  Someway,  I  didn't 
feel  like  meetin'  them  sleuthy  eyes  just  then,  or 
seein'  that  smirky  smile;  so  I  dodges  back  and 
pikes  down  the  hall.  She  must  have  had  the 
same  thought;  for  we  almost  collides  head  on 


MBS.  TBUCKLES'  BROAD  JUMP    193 

halfway  down,  and  the  next  thing  I  know  she's 
dropped  onto  a  davenport,  sobbin'  and  shakin' 
all  over. 

"  Excuse  me  for  mentionin'  it,"  says  I;  "  but 
there  ain't  any  call  for  hysterics." 

"  Oh,  I  know  who  you  are  now,"  says  she. 
11  You — you're  a  private  detective!  ': 

«  Eh?  "  says  I.  "  How'd  you  get  onto  my 
disguise?  ' 

' '  I  knew  it  from  the  first, ' '  says  she.  * '  And 
then,  when  I  saw  you  with  the  children,  asking 

them  about  me Oh,  you  won't  arrest  me 

and  take  me  away  from  the  darlings,  will  you? 
Please  don't  take  me  to  jail !  I'll  tell  you  every- 
thing, truly  I  will,  sir !  " 

"  That  might  help  some,"  says  I;  "  but,  if 
you're  goin'  to  'fess  up,  suppose  you  begin  at 
Chapter  I.  Was  it  the  fam'ly  jewels  you  was 
after?  " 

11  No,  no!  "  says  she.  "  I  never  took  a  pen- 
ny's worth  in  msy  life.  Truckles  could  tell  you 
that  if  he  could  only  be  here. ' ' 

"  Truckles,  eh?  "  says  I.  "  Now  just  who 
was " 

"  My  'usband,  sir,"  says  she.  "  And  I'm  Mrs. 
Truckles." 

"Oh-ho!"  says  I.  "Then  this  Boulaire 
name  you've  been  flaggin'  under  was  sort  of 
a  nom  de  plume?  '' 

1 1  It  was  for  Katy  I  did  it !  "  she  sobs. 


194  ODD  NUMBERS 

"  Oh,  yes,"  says  I.  "  Well,  what  about 
Katy?  " 

And,  say,  that  was  the  way  it  come  out ;  first, 
a  bit  here  and  then  a  bit  there,  with  me  puttin' 
the  ends  together  and  patchin 9  this  soggy  every- 
day yarn  out  of  what  we'd  all  thought  was  such 
a  deep,  dark  mystery. 

She  was  English,  Mrs.  Truckles  was,  and  so 
was  the  late  Truckles.  They'd  worked  together, 
him  bein'  a  first  class  butler  whose  only  fault 
was  he  couldn't  keep  his  fingers  off  the  decan- 
ters. It  was  after  he'd  struck  the  bottom  of 
the  toboggan  slide  and  that  thirst  of  his  had 
finished  him  for  good  and  all  that  Mrs.  Truckles 
collects  her  little  Katy  from  where  they'd 
boarded  her  out  and  comes  across  to  try  her 
luck  on  this  side. 

She'd  worked  up  as  far  as  housekeeper,  and 
had  made  enough  to  educate  Katy  real  well  and 
marry  her  off  to  a  bright  yoimg  gent  by  the 
name., of  McGowan  that  owned  a  half  interest 
in  a  corner  saloon  up  in  the  Bronx  and  stood 
well  with  the  district  leader. 

She  was  happy  and  contented  in  them  days, 
Mrs.  Truckles  was,  with  McGowan  doin'  a 
rushin'  business,  gettin'  his  name  on  the  Tam- 
many ticket,  and  Katy  patronizing  a  swell 
dressmaker  and  havin'  a  maid  of  her  own. 
Then,  all  of  a  sudden,  Mrs.  Truckles  tumbles 
to  the  fact  that  Katy  is  gettin'  ashamed  of 


MRS.  TRUCKLES'  BROAD  JUMP    195 

havin'  a  mother  that's  out  to  service  and  eatin' 
with  the  chauffeur  and  the  cook.  Not  that  she 
wants  her  livin '  with  them, — McGowan  wouldn  't 
stand  for  that, — but  Katy  did  think  Mother 
might  do  something  for  a  living  that  wouldn't 
blur  up  the  fam'ly  escutcheon  quite  so  much. 

It  was  just  when  Mrs.  Truckles  was  feelin' 
this  most  keen  that  the  French  governess  where 
she  was  got  married  and  went  West  to  live, 
leavin'  behind  her,  besides  a  collection  of  old 
hats,  worn  out  shoes,  and  faded  picture  postals, 
this  swell  reference  from  Lady  Jigwater.  And 
havin'  put  in  a  year  or  so  in  France  with  dif '- 
rent  families  that  had  taken  her  across,  and 
havin'  had  to  pick  up  more  or  less  of  the  lan- 
guage, Mrs.  Truckles  conceives  the  great  scheme 
of  promotin'  herself  from  the  back  to  the  front 
of  the  house.  So  she  chucks  up  as  workin' 
housekeeper,  splurges  on  the  wig,  and  strikes 
a  swell  intelligence  office  with  this  phony  ref- 
erence. 

Course,  with  anybody  else  but  an  easy  mark 
like  Mrs.  Pinckney,  maybe  she  wouldn't  have 
got  away  with  it;  but  all  Geraldine  does  is 
glance  at  the  paper,  ask  her  if  she  likes  chil- 
dren, and  put  her  on  the  payroll. 

"  Well?  "  says  I.  "  And  it  got  you  some  wor- 
ried tryin'  to  make  good,  eh?  " 

"  I  was  near  crazy  over  it,"  says  she.  "  I 
thought  I  could  do  it  at  first ;  but  it  came  cruel 


196  ODD  NUMBERS 

'ard.  Oh,  sir,  the  lies  I've  'ad  to  tell,  keepin' 
it  up.  And  with  the  rest  of  the  'elp  all  'ating 
me !  Marie  used  me  worst  of  all,  though.  She 
made  me  tell  'er  everything,  and  'eld  it  over  my 
'ead.  Next  that  Aunt  Martha  came  and  thought 
lip  so  many  bad  things  about  me — you  know." 

"  Sure/'  says  I;  "but  how  about  this  Sir 
Podmore?  " 

"  I  was  'ead  laundress  at  Podmore  'Ouse," 
says  she,  ' '  and  I  thought  it  was  all  up  when  he 
saw  me  here.  I  never  should  have  tried  to  do 
it.  I'm  a  good  'ousekeeper,  if  I  do  say  it;  but 
I'm  getting  to  be  an  old  woman  now,  and  this 
will  end  me.  It  was  for  Katy  I  did  it,  though. 
Every  week  she  used  to  come  and  throw  it  in 
my  face  that  she  couldn't  call  at  the  front  door 

and — and Well,  I  'opes  you'll  believe  me, 

sir;  but  that  was  just  the  way  of  it,  and  if  I'm 
taken  to  jail  it  will  kill  Katy  and 

"  Aha!  "breaks  in  a  voice  behind  us.  "  Here, 
Pinckney !  Come,  Geraldine !  This  way  every- 
body! "  and  as  I  turns  around  there's  Aunt 
Martha  with  the  accusin'  finger  out  and  her 
face  fairly  beamin'.  Before  I  can  get  in  a  word 
she's  assembled  the  fam'ly. 

"  What  did  I  tell  you?  "  she  cackles.  "  She's 
broken  down  and  confessed !  I  heard  her !  ' 

"Is  it  true,  Shorty?  "  demands  Mrs.  Pinck- 
ney. "  Does  she  admit  that  she  was  plotting 
to " 


MKS.  TRUCKLES'  BROAD  JUMP    197 

"  Yep !  "  says  I.  "  It's  something  awful  too, 
almost  enough  to  curdle  your  blood. ' ' 

"  Go  on,"  says  Aunt  Martha.  "  Tell  us  the 
worst.  What  is  it!  " 

11  It's  a  case  of  standin'  broad  jump,"  says 
I,  "  from  housekeeper  to  governess,  with  an 
age  handicap  and  a  crooked  entry." 

Course,  I  has  to  work  out  the  details  for  'em, 
and  when  I've  stated  the  whole  hidjous  plot, 
from  the  passing  of  Truckles  the  Thirsty  to  the 
high  pride  of  Katy  the  Barkeep's  Bride,  in- 
«ludin'  the  tale  of  the  stolen  character  and 
chuckin'  the  nervy  bluff — well,  they  didn't  any 
of  'em  know  what  to  say.  They  just  stands 
around  gawpin'  curious  at  this  sobbin',  wabbly 
kneed  old  party  slumped  down  there  on  the  hall 
seat. 

Aunt  Martha,  actin'  as  prosecutor  for  the 
State,  is  the  first  to  recover.  "  Well,  there's  no 
knowin'  how  far  she  might  have  gone,"  says 
she.  "  And  she  ought  to  be  punished  some 
way.  Pinckney,  what  are  you  going  to  do  with 
her?  " 

For  a  minute  he  looks  from  Aunt  Martha  to 
the  object  in  the  middle  of  the  circle,  and  then 
he  drops  them  black  eyelashes  lazy,  like  he  was 
half-asleep,  and  I  knew  somethin'  was  coming 
worth  listenin'  to. 

"  Considering  all  the  circumstances,"  says 
Pinckney,  "  I  think  we  shall  discharge  Marie, 


198  ODD  NUMBEES 

increase  Mrs.  Truckles'  salary,  give  her  an  as- 
sistant, and  ask  her  to  stay  with  us  per- 
manently. Eh,  Geraldine?  " 

And  Geraldine  nods  hearty. 

"  Pinckney,  let's  shake  on  that,"  says  I. 
"  Even  if  your  head  is  full  of  soap  bubbles, 
you've  got  an  eighteen-carat  heart  in  you. 
Hear  the  news,  Mrs.  Truckles?  " 

"  Then — then  I'm  not  to  go  to  jail?  "  says 
she,  takin'  her  hands  off  her  face  and  lookin' 
up  straight  and  steady  for  the  first  time  in 
months. 

"  Jail  nothin'!  "  says  I.  "  There 's  goin'  to- 
be  a  new  deal,  and  you  start  in  fresh  with  a 
clean  slate." 

"  Humph!  "  snorts  Aunt  Martha.  "  Do  you 
expect  me  to  stay  here  and  countenance  any  such 
folly?  " 

"I'm  far  too  considerate  of  my  relatives  for 
that,"  says  Pinckney.  "  There's  a  train  at  five- 
thirty-six." 

And,  say,  to  see  Mrs.  Truckles  now,  with  her 
gray  hair  showin'  natural,  and  her  chin  up,  and 
a  twin  hangin'  to  either  hand,  and  the  sleuthy 
look  gone  out  of  them  old  eyes,  you'd  hardly 
know  her  for  the  same  party! 

These  antelope  leaps  is  all  right  sometimes; 
but  when  you  take  'em  you  want  to  be  wearin* 
your  own  shoes. 


CHAPTEE  XIII 

HEINEY   TAKES   THE    GLOOM   CUBE 

Two  in  one  day,  mind  you.  It  just  goes  to 
show  what  effect  the  first  dose  of  hot  weather 
is  liable  to  have  on  the  custard  heads.  Well, 
maybe  I  oughtn't  to  call  'em  that,  either.  They 
can't  seem  to  help  gettin*  that  way,  any  more'n 
other  folks  can  dodge  havin'  bad  dreams,  or 
boils  on  the  neck.  And  I  ain't  any  mind  special- 
ist; so  when  it  comes  to  sayin'  what '11  soften 
up  a  man's  brain,  or  whether  he  couldn't  side- 
step it  if  he  tried,  I  passes  the  make. 

Now  look  at  this  dippy  move  of  Mr.  Jar- 
vis's.  Guess  you  don't  remember  him.  I'd 
'most  forgot  him  myself,  it's  so  long  since  he 
was  around;  but  he's  the  young  chap  that  owns 
that  big  Blenmont  place,  the  gent  that  Swifty 
and  I  helped  out  with  the  fake  match  when 

he Well,  never  mind  that  yarn.  He  got 

the  girl,  all  right ;  and  as  he  had  everything  else 
anybody  could  think  of,  it  should  have  been  a 
case  of  lockin'  trouble  on  the  outside  and  takin' 
joy  for  a  permanent  boarder. 

But  there  the  other  morning  just  as  I  was 
havin'  a  breathin'  spell  after  hammerin'  some 

199 


200  ODD  NUMBEKS 

surplus  ego  out  of  a  young  society  sport  that 
had  the  idea  he  could  box,  the  studio  door  opens, 
and  in  pokes  this  Mr.  Jarvis,  actin'  like  he'd 
been  doped. 

Now  he's  a  big,  husky,  full  blooded  young 
gent,  that's  always  used  himself  well,  never  col- 
lected any  bad  habits,  and  knows  no  more  about 
being  sick  than  a  cat  knows  about  swimmin'. 
Add  to  that  the  fact  that  he's  one  of  the  un- 
employed rich,  with  more  money  than  he  knows 
how  to  spend,  and  you  can  figure  out  how  sur- 
prised I  am  to  see  that  down  and  out  look  on 
his  face.  Course,  I  thinks  something  serious 
has  been  happenin'  to  him,  and  I  treats  him  real 
gentle. 

"  Hello,  Mr.  Jarvis!  "  says  I.  "  Somebody 
been  thro  win '  the  hooks  into  you,  have  they !  ' 

11  Oh,  no,"  says  he.    "  No,  I— I'm  all  right." 

"  That's  good,"  says  I.  "  Dropped  in  to  let 
me  hand  you  a  few  vibrations  with  the  mitts  ?  ' 

"  No,  thank  you,  Shorty,"  says  he,  fingerin' 
a  chair-back  sort  of  hesitatin',  as  if  he  didn't 
know  whether  to  sit  down  or  stand  up.  '  *  That 
is — er — I  think  I  don't  care  for  a  bout  to-day. 
I — I'm  hardly  in  the  mood,  you  see." 

11  Just  as  you  say,"  says  I.  "  Have  a  seat, 
anyway.  Sure!  That  one;  it's  reserved  for 
you.  Maybe  you  come  in  to  enjoy  some  of  my 
polite  and  refined  conversation?  ' 

"  Why — er — the  fact  is,  Shorty,"  says  he, 


HEINEY  TAKES  THE  GLOOM  CUBE    201 

fixin'  his  tie  kind  of  nervous,  "  I — I  don't  know 
just  why  I  did  come  in.  I  think  I  started  for 
the  club,  and  as  I  was  passing  by  in  a  cab  I 
looked  up  here  at  your  windows — and— 
and " 

"  Of  course,"  says  I,  soothin'.  "  What's  the 
use  goin'  to  the  club  when  the  Physical  Culture 
Studio  is  handier?  You're  feelin'  fine  as  silk; 
how 're  you  lookin'?  ' 

( i  Eh  I  Beg  pardon  ?  ' '  says  he,  gettin '  twisted 
up  on  that  mothy  gag.  "  Oh,  I  see!  I'm  look- 
ing rotten,  thank  you,  and  feeling  the  same." 

"  G'wan!  "  says  I.  "  You  ain't  got  any  li- 
cense to  have  feelin 's  like  that.  Guess  you  got 
the  symptoms  mixed.  But  where  do  you  think 
it  hurts  most?  ' 

Well,  it  takes  five  or  ten  minutes  of  jollyin' 
like  that  to  pull  any  details  at  all  out  of  Jar- 
vis,  and  when  I  does  get  the  whole  heartrendin' 
story,  I  hardly  knows  whether  to  give  him  the 
laugh,  or  to  send  out  for  a  nursin'  bottle. 

Ever  seen  a  great,  grown  man  play  the  baby 
act?  Talk  about  a  woman  in  a  cryin'  spell! 
That  ain't  a  marker  to  watchin'  a  six-foot,  one 
hundred  and  eighty-pound  free  citizen  droop 
his  mouth  corners  and  slump  his  shoulders  over 
nothin'  at  all.  Course,  I  don't  always  feel  like 
a  hickey  boy  myself,  and  I'll  admit  there  are 
times  when  the  rosy  tints  get  a  little  clouded  up ; 
but  I  has  my  own  way  of  workin'  out  of  such 


202  ODD  NUMBEKS 

spells  before  the  mullygrubs  turns  ray  gray  mat- 
ter into  curdled  milk.  But  Jarvis,  he's  as  blue 
as  a  rainy  Monday  with  the  wash  all  in 
soak. 

In  the  first  place,  he's  been  alone  for  nearly 
three  whole  weeks,  the  women  folks  all  bein' 
abroad,  and  it's  a  new  experience  for  him. 
Think  of  that  awful  calamity  happenin'  to  a 
man  of  his  size!  Seems  that  before  he  was 
married  he'd  always  carted  mother  and  sister 
around,  under  the  idea  that  he  was  lookin'  out 
for  them,  when  as  a  matter  of  fact  they  was 
the  ones  that  was  lookin'  after  him.  Then  Mrs. 
Jarvis,  Lady  Evelyn  that  was,  takes  him  in 
hand  and  makes  him  more  helpless  than  ever. 
He  never  mistrusts  how  much  he's  been  molly- 
coddled, until  he  finds  himself  with  nobody  but 
a  valet,  a  housekeeper,  and  seventeen  assorted 
servants  to  help  him  along  in  the  struggle  for 
existence. 

His  first  move  after  the  ladies  have  sailed 
is  to  smoke  until  his  tongue  feels  like  a  pussy* 
cat's  back,  eat  his  lonesome  meals  at  lunch- 
counter  clip,  and  work  himself  into  a  mild  bil- 
ious state.  That  makes  him  a  little  cranky  with 
the  help,  and,  as  there's  no  one  around  to  smooth 
'em  out,  the  cook  and  half  a  dozen  maids  leaves 
in  a  bunch.  His  head  coachman  goes  off  on  a 
bat,  the  housekeeper  skips  out  to  Ohio  to  bury 
an  aunt,  and  the  domestic  gear  at  Blenmont  gets 


HEINEY  TAKES  THE  GLOOM  CUBE    203 

to  runnin'  about  as  smooth  as  a  flat  wheel  trol- 
ley car  on  a  new  roadbed. 

To  finish  off  the  horrible  situation,  Jarvis  has 
had  a  misunderstandin'  with  a  landscape  archi- 
tect that  he'd  engaged  to  do  things  to  the 
grounds.  Jarvis  had  planned  to  plant  a  swan 
lake  in  the  front  yard ;  but  the  landscaper  points 
out  that  it  can't  be  done  because  there's  a  hill 
in  the  way. 

"  To  be  sure,"  says  Jarvis,  "  these  are  lit- 
tle things;  but  I've  been  worrying  over  them 

until — until Well,  I'm  in  bad  shape, 

Shorty." 

"  It's  a  wonder  you're  still  alive,"  says  I. 

"  Don't!  "  says  he,  groanin'.  "  It  is  too  seri- 
ous a  matter.  Perhaps  you  don't  know  it,  but 
I  had  an  uncle  that  drank  himself  to  death." 

* '  Huh !  ' '  says  I.  ' '  'Most  everybody  has  had 
an  uncle  of  that  kind." 

"  And  one  of  my  cousins,"  Jarvis  goes  on, 
lowerin'  his  voice  and  lookin'  around  cautious, 
"  shot  himself — in  the  head!  ': 

"  Eh?  "  says  I.  And  then  I  begun  to  get  a 
glimmer  of  what  he  was  drivin'  at.  "  What! 
You  don't  mean  that  you  were  thinkin'  of — 
of " 

He  groans  again  and  nods  his  head. 

Then  I  cuts  loose.  * '  Why,  look  here !  ' '  says 
I.  "  You  soft  boiled,  mush  headed,  spineless 
imitation  of  a  real  man!  do  you  mean  to  tell 


204  ODD  NUMBERS 

me  that,  just  because  you've  been  tied  loose 
from  a  few  skirts  for  a  week  or  so,  and  have 
had  to  deal  with  some  grouchy  hired  hands, 
you've  actually  gone  jelly  brained  over  it!  " 

Perhaps  that  don't  make  him  squirm  some, 
though !  He  turns  white  first,  and  then  he  gets 
the  hectic  flush.  "  Pardon  me,  McCabe,"  says 
he,  stiff enin'  up,  "  but  I  don't  care  to  have  any- 
one talk  to  me  like " 

"  Ah,  pickles!  "  says  I.  "Ill  talk  to  you 
a  good  deal  straighter'n  that,  before  I  finish! 
And  you'll  take  it,  too !  Why,  you  great,  over- 
grown kid!  what  right  have  you  developin'  such 
a  yellow  cur  streak  as  that?  You!  What  you 
need  is  to  be  laid  over  that  chair  and  paddled, 
and  blamed  if  I  don't  know  but  I'd  better- 
But  just  here  the  door  creaks,  and  in  drifts 
the  other  one.  Hanged  if  I  ever  did  know  what 
his  real  name  was.  I  called  him  Heiney  Kirsch- 
wasser  for  short,  though  he  says  he  ain't  Dutch 
at  all,  but  Swiss-French;  and  that  it  ain't  kirsch 
that's  his  failin',  but  prune  brandy.  He's  the 
mop  and  broom  artist  for  the  buildin',  some 
floater  the  janitor  picked  up  off  the  sidewalk 
a  few  months  back. 

He  wa'n't  exactly  a  decorative  object,  this 
Heiney;  but  he's  kind  of  a  picturesque  ruin. 
His  widest  part  is  around  the  belt;  and  from 
there  he  tapers  both  ways,  his  shoulders  bein' 
a  good  eight  inches  narrower;  and  on  top  of 


HEINEY  TAKES  THE  GLOOM  CURE    205 

them,  with  no  neck  to  speak  of,  is  a  head  shaped 
like  a  gum  drop,  bald  on  top,  and  remindin'  you 
of  them  mountain  peaks  you  see  in  pictures,  or 
a  ham  set  on  end. 

He  has  a  pair  of  stary,  pop  eyes,  a  high  col- 
ored beak  that  might  be  used  as  a  danger  signal, 
and  a  black,  shoebrush  beard,  trimmed  close  ex- 
cept for  a  little  spike  under  the  chin,  that 
gives  the  lower  part  of  his  face  a  look  like 
the  ace  of  spades.  His  mornin'  costume  is  a 
faded  blue  jumper,  brown  checked  pants,  and 
an  old  pair  of  rubber  soled  shoes  that  Swifty 
had  donated  to  him. 

That's  Heiney's  description,  as  near  as  I  can 
get  to  it.  He  comes  shufflin'  in,  luggin'  a  scrub 
pail  in  one  hand,  and  draggin'  a  mop  in  the 
other,  and  he  looks  about  as  cheerful  as  a  worn- 
out  hearse  that's  been  turned  into  an  ash  wagon. 

"  Heiney,"  says  I,  "  you're  just  in  time.  Still 
lookin'  for  a  nice,  comfortable  place  to  die  in, 
are  you?  ' 

Heiney  shrugs  his  shoulders  and  lifts  his  eye- 
brows in  a  lifeless  sort  of  style.  He  does  most 
of  his  conversin '  that  way ;  but  he  can  say  more 
with  a  few  shrugs  than  Swifty  Joe  can  by  usin' 
both  sides  of  his  mouth.  What  Heiney  means 
is  that  one  place  is  as  good  as  another,  and  he 
don't  care  how  soon  he  finds  it. 

"  Well,  cheer  up,  Heiney,"  says  I;  "  for  I've 
just  decided  to  give  you  the  use  of  my  back 


206  ODD  NUMBERS 

room  to  shuffle  off  in.  I've  got  conrp'ny  for 
you,  too.  Here's  a  friend  of  mine  that  feels 
the  same  way  you  do.  Mr.  Jarvis,  Mr.  Heiney 
Kirschwasser." 

And  you  should  have  seen  the  look  of  disgust 
on  Jarvis 's  face  as  he  sizes  up  the  specimen. 
"  Oh,  I  say  now,  Shorty,"  he  begins,  "  there's 
such  a  thing  as " 

* '  G  'wan !  ' '  says  I.  * '  Wa  >n  't  you  just  tellin ' 
me  about  how  you  was  plannin'  a  job  for  the 
coroner!  And  Heiney 's  been  threatenin'  to  do 
the  same  thing  for  weeks.  He  comes  in  here 
every  day  or  so  and  talks  about  jumpin'  off 
the  dock,  or  doin'  the  air  dance.  I've  been 
stavin'  him  off  with  slugs  of  prune  brandy  and 
doses  of  good  advice;  but  if  a  chap  like  you 
has  caught  the  fever,  then  I  see  I've  been  doin' 
wrong  not  to  let  Heiney  have  his  way.  Now 
there's  the  back  room,  with  plenty  of  rope  and 
gasjets.  Get  on  in  there,  both  of  you,  and  make 
a  reg'lar  bee  of  it!  ': 

Heiney,  he  stands  blinkin'  and  starin'  at  Jar- 
vis,  until  he  gets  him  so  nervous  he  almost 
screams. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  Shorty,"  says  Jarvis, 
"  let's  not  joke  about  such  a  subject!  ' 

"  Joke!  "  says  I.  "  You're  the  one  that's 
supplyin'  the  comedy  here.  Now  Heiney  is  seri- 
ous. He'd  do  the  trick  in  a  minute  if  he  had 
the  nerve.  He's  got  things  on  his  mind,  Heiney 


HEINEY  TAKES  THE  GLOOM  CUBE    207 

has.  And  what's  the  odds  if  they  ain't  so? 
Compared  to  what  you've  been  fussin'  about, 
they're Here,  Heiney,  you  tell  the  gentle- 
man that  tale  of  yours.  Begin  where  you  was 
a  cook  in  some  seashore  hotel  in  Switzerland." 

"  Not  zeashore!  Non!  "  says  Heiney,  drop- 
pin'  his  pail  and  wavin'  one  hand.  "  Eet  ees 
at  Lack  Como,  in  ze  montongs.  I  am  ze  head 
chef,  moil ' 

1 1  Yes,  you  look  it !  "  says  I.  "A  fine  figure 
of  a  chef  you'd  make !  wouldn't  you?  Well,  go 
on:  about  bein'  full  of  prunes  when  they  called 
on  you  to  season  the  soup.  What  was  it  you 
dumped  in  instead  of  salt, — arsenic,  eh?  " 

"  Non,  non!  "  says  Heiney,  gettin'  excited. 
' '  Ze  poison  for  ze  r-r-rat.  I  keep  heem  in  one 
tin  can,  same  as  ze  salt.  I  am  what  you  call 
intoxicate.  I  make  ze  znistak'.  Ah,  diable! 
Deux,  trois — free  hundred  guests  are  zere.  Zey 
eat  ze  soup.  Zen  come  by  me  ze  niaitre  d'hotel. 
He  say  ze  soup  ees  spoil.  Eet  has  ze  f  oony  taste. 
All,  mon  Dieu!  Mon " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  says  I.  "  Never  mind  whether 
it  was  Monday  or  Tuesday.  What  did  you  do 
then?  " 

"  Moif  I  fly!  "  says  Heiney.  "  I  am  dis- 
tract. I  r-r-r-run  on  ze  r-r-r-road.  I  tear-r-r  off 
my  white  apron,  my  white  chapeau.  Ah,  sacr-r- 
re  nom!  How  my  heart  is  thoomp,  thoomp,  on 
my  inside !  All  night  I  speak  to  myself :  '  You 


208  ODD  NUMBERS 

have  keel  zem  all !  Ze  1} ette  ladies !  Ze  pcmvre 
shildren !  All,  you  have  poi-zon-ed !  Zey  make 
to  tweest  up  on  ze  floor!  '  Ah,  diable!  Always 
I  can  see  zem  tweest  up!  ' 

"  Reg'lar  rough  on  rats  carnival,  eh?  "  says 
I.  "  Three  hundred  beautiful  ladies  and  poor 
children,  not  to  mention  a  few  men,  doin'  the 
agony  act  on  the  dinin'  room  floor !  There,  Jar- 
vis!  How'd  you  like  to  carry  round  a  movin' 
picture  film  like  that  in  your  inem'ry!  Course, 
I've  tried  to  explain  to  Heiney  that  nothing  of 
the  kind  ever  took  place;  that  the  papers  would 
have  been  full  of  it;  and  that  he'd  been  in  the 
jug  long  before  this,  if  it  had.  But  this  is 
Heiney 's  own  particular  pipe  dream,  and  he 
can't  let  go  of  it.  It's  got  tangled  up  in  the 
works  somehow,  and  nothing  I  can  say  will  jar 
it  loose.  Poor  cuss!  Look  at  him!  No  doubt 
about  its  seemin.'  real  to  him,  is  there?  And 
how  does  your  little  collection  of  fleabites  show 
up  alongside  it;  eh,  Jarvis?  " 

But  Jarvis,  he's  gazin'  at  Heiney  as  if  this 
lump  of  moldy  sweitzerkase  was  fascinatin'  to 
look  at. 

"  I  beg  .pardon,"  says  he,  "  but  you  say  this 
hotel  was  at  Lake  Como?  ' 

Heiney  nods  his  head,  then  covers  his  face 
with  his  hands,  as  if  he  was  seein'  things  again. 

11  And  what  was  the  date  of  this — this  un- 
fortunate occurrence?  "  says  Jarvis. 


HEINEY  TAKES  THE  GLOOM  CURE    209 

"  Year  before  the  last,  in  Augoost,"  says 
Heiney,  shudderin', — "  Augoost  seven." 

"  The  seventh  of  August!  ':  says  Jarvis. 
' '  And  was  your  hotel  the  Occident  ?  ' ' 

"  Oui,  oui!  "  says  Heiney.  "  L'Hotel  Occi- 
dent." 

"  Guess  he  means  Accident,"  says  I.  "  What 
do  you  know  about  it,  Jarvis  f  ' ' 

<•  <  Why, ' '  says  he,  "  I  was  there. ' ' 

* '  What  f  ' '  says  I.  ' '  Here,  Heiney,  wake  up ! 
Here's  one  of  the  victims  of  your  rat  poison 
soup.  Does  he  look  as  though  he  'd  been  through 
that  floor  tweestin'  orgy?  ' 

With  that  Heiney  gets  mighty  interested ;  but 
he  ain't  convinced  until  Jarvis  gives  him  all 
the  details,  even  to  namin'  the  landlord  and  de- 
scribin'  the  head  waiter. 

* '  But  ze  soup !  ' '  says  Heiney.  *  *  Ze  poi- 
zon-ed  soup  f  ' 

' '  It  was  bad  soup, ' '  says  Jarvis ;  ' '  but  not 
quite  so  bad  as  that.  Nobody  could  eat  it,  and 

I  believe  the  final  report  that  we  had  on  the 
subject  was  to  the  effect  that  a  half  intoxicated 
chef  had  seasoned  it  with  the  powdered  alum 
that  should  have  gone  into  the  morning  rolls." 

1 1  Ze  alum !  Ze  alum !  Of  zat  I  nevair  think !  '  > 
squeals  Heiney,  flopping  down  on  his  kneees. 

II  Ah,  le  bon  Dieu!   Le  bon  Dieu! ' 

He  clasps  his  hands  in  front  of  him  and  rolls 
his  eyes  to  the  ceilin'.  Say,  it  was  the  liveliest 


210  ODD  NUMBERS 

French  prayin'  I  ever  saw ;  for  Heiney  is  rockin* 
back  and  forth,  his  pop  eyes  leakin'  brine,  and 
the  polly-voo  conversation  is  bubblin'  out  of 
him  like  water  out  of  a  bu'sted  fire  hydrant. 

1 1  Ah,  quit  it !  "  says  I.  ' '  This  is  no  camp 
meetin'." 

There's  no  shuttin'  him  off,  though,  and  all 
the  let-up  he  takes  is  to  break  off  now  and  then 
to  get  Jarvis  to  tell  him  once  more  that  it's 
all  true. 

"  You  make  certainement,  eh  I  "  says  he. 
"  Nobody  was  keel?  " 

11  Not  a  soul,"  says  Jarvis.  "  I  didn't  even 
hear  of  anyone  that  was  made  ill." 

"  Ah,  merci,  merci!  "  howls  Heiney,  beginnin' 
the  rockin'  horse  act  again. 

"  Say,  for  the  love  of  Pete,  Heiney!  "  says 
I,  "  will  you  saw  that  off  before  you  draw  a 
crowd?  I'm  glad  you  believe  Jarvis,  and  that 
Jarvis  believes  you;  but  hanged  if  I  can  quite 
swallow  any  such  dopy  yarn  as  that  without 
somethin'  more  convincin'!  All  I  know  about 
you  is  that  you're  the  worst  floor  scrubber  I 
ever  saw.  And  you  say  you  was  a  cook,  do 
you?  " 

"  Cook!  "  says  Heiney,  swellin'  up  his  chest. 
"  I  am  tell  you  zat  I  was  ze  premier  chef.  I 
have  made  for  myself  fame.  Everywhere  in 
I' Europe  zey  will  tell  you  of  me.  For  the  king 
of  ze  Englise  I  have  made  a  dinner.  Moil  I 


have  invent  ze  sauce  Eavignon.  From  nozzing 
at  all — some  meat  scraps,  some  leetle  greens — I 
produce  ze  dish  ravishment." 

"  Yes,  I've  heard  bluffs  like  that  before," 
says  I ;  "  but  I  never  saw  one  made  good.  Tell 
you  what  I'll  do,  though:  In  the  far  corner  of 
the  gym.  there,  is  what  Swifty  Joe  calls  his 
kitchenet,  where  he  warms  up  his  chowder  and 
beans.  There's  a  two-burner  gas  stove,  an  old 
fryin'  pan,  and  a  coffee  pot.  Now  here's  a  dol- 
lar. You  take  that  out  on  Sixth-ave.  and  spend 
it  for  meat  scraps  and  leetle  greens.  Then  you 
come  back  here,  and  while  Jarvis  and  I  are 
takin'  a  little  exercise,  if  you  can  hash  up  any- 
thing that's  fit  to  eat,  I'll  believe  your  whole 
yarn.  Do  you  make  the  try?  ' 

Does  he?  Say,  you  never  saw  such  a  tickled 
Frenchy  in  your  life.  Before  Jarvis  and  me 
had  got  nicely  peeled  down  for  our  delayed 
boxin'  bout,  Heiney  is  back  with  his  bundles, 
has  got  the  fryin'  pan  scoured,  the  gas  blazin', 
and  is  throwin'  things  together  like  a  juggler 
doin'  a  stage  turn. 

He  sheds  the  blue  jumper,  ties  a  bath  towel 
around  him  for  an  apron,  makes  a  hat  out  of 
a  paper  bag,  and  twists  some  of  that  stringy 
lip  decoration  of  his  into  a  pointed  mustache. 
Honest,  he  didn't  look  nor  act  any  more  like 
the  wreck  that  had  dragged  the  mop  in  there 
half  an  hour  before  than  I  look  like  Bill  Taft. 


212  ODD  NUMBERS 

And  by  the  time  we've  had  our  three  rounds 
and  a  rub  down,  he's  standin'  doubled  up  beside 
a  little  table  that  he's  found,  with  his  arms 
spread  out  like  he  was  goin'  to  take  a  dive. 

"  Messieurs,"  says  he,  "  eet  ees  serve." 

"  Good!  "  says  I.  "I'm  just  about  up  to 
tacklin'  a  hot  lunch.  What  kind  of  a  mess  have 
you  got  here,  anyway,  Heiney?  Any  alum  in 
it?  Blamed  if  I  don't  make  you  put  away  the 
whole  shootin'  match  if  it  ain't  good!  " 

How's  that?  Well,  say,  I  couldn't  name  it,  or 
say  whether  it  was  a  stew,  fry  or  an  omelet,  but 
for  an  impromptu  sample  of  fancy  grub  it  was 
a  little  the  tastiest  article  I  ever  stacked  up 
against. 

"  Why!  "  says  Jarvis,  smackin'  his  lips  after 
the  third  forkful.  "  It's  ris  de  veau,  isn't  it?  ' 

11  But  yes,  monsieur!  "  says  Heiney,  his  face 
lightin'  up.    "  Set  ees  ris  de  veau  grille,  a  la 
financier." 
.   "  And  what's  that  in  English?  "  says  I. 

"  In  Englise,"  says  Heiney,  shruggin'  his 
shoulders,  "  eet  ees  not  exist.  Eet  ees  Parisi- 
enne." 

"  Bully  for  Paris,  then!  "  says  I.  "  What- 
ever it  might  be  if  it  could  be  naturalized,  it 
touches  the  spot.  I  take  it  all  back,  Heiney. 
You're  the  shiftiest  chef  that  ever  juggled  a 
fryin'  pan.  A  refill  on  the  riddy-voo,  seal-voo- 
plate." 


HEINEY  TAKES  THE  GLOOM  CUBE    213 

Well,  what  do  you  guess!  Jarvis  engages 
Heiney  on  the  spot,  and  an  hour  later  they've 
started  for  Blenmont,  both  of  'em  actin'  like 
they  thought  this  was  a  good  world  to  live  in, 
after  all. 

Yesterday  me  and  Sadie  accepts  a  special  in- 
vite out  there  to  dinner;  and  it  was  worth  goin' 
out  to  get.  From  start  to  finish  it  was  the  finest 
that  ever  happened.  Afterwards  Jarvis  has 
Heiney  come  up  from  the  kitchen  and  show  him- 
self while  we  drinks  his  good  health.  And  say, 
in  his  white  togs  and  starched  linen  cap,  he's 
got  the  chef  on  the  canned  goods  ads.  lookin' 
like  a  hash  rustler  in  a  beanery. 

As  for  Jarvis,  he's  got  the  pink  back  in  his 
cheeks,  and  is  holdin'  his  chin  up  once  more, 
and  when  we  left  in  the  mornin'  he  was  out 
bossin'  a  couple  of  hundred  lab'rers  that  was 
takin'  that  hill  in  wheelbarrows  and  cartin'  it 
off  where  it  wouldn't  interfere  with  the  lake. 

11  Shorty,"  says  he,  "  I  don't  know  how  you 
did  it,  but  you've  made  me  a  sane  man  again, 
and  I  owe  you  more  than— 

"  Ah,  chuck  it!  "  says  I.  ''It  was  curin' 
Heiney  that  cured  you." 

"  Really?  "  says  he.  "  Then  you  are  a  be- 
liever in  homeopathic  psychotherapeutics  1  ' 

"  Which!  "  says  I.  "  Say,  write  that  down 
on  my  cuff  by  syllables,  will  you?  I  want  to 
spring  it  on  Swifty  Joe." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

A  TBY-OUT   FOB   TOODLEISM 

EH?  Yes,  maybe  I  do  walk  a  little  stiff 
jointed;  but,  say,  I'm  satisfied  to  be  walkin' 
around  at  all.  If  I  hadn't  had  my  luck  with 
me  the  other  day,  I'd  be  wearin'  that  left  leg 
in  splints  and  bein'  pushed  around  in  a  wheel 
chair.  As  it  is,  the  meat  is  only  a  little  sore, 
and  a  few  more  alcohol  rubs  will  put  it  in 
shape. 

What  was  it  come  so  near  gettin'  me  on  the 
disabled  list?  Toodleism!  No,  I  expect  you 
didn't;  but  let  me  put  you  next,  son:  there's 
more  'isms  and-  'pathys  and  'ists  floatin'  around 
these  days,  than  any  one  head  can  keep  track  of. 
I  don't  know  much  about  the  lot;  but  this  Too- 
dleism's  a  punk  proposition.  Besides  leavin' 
me  with  a  game  prop,  it  come  near  bu'stin'  up 
the  fam'ly. 

Seems  like  trouble  was  lookin*  for  me  last 
week,  anyway.  First  off,  I  has  a  run  of  old 
timers,  that  panhandles  me  out  of  all  the  loose 
coin  I  has  in  my  clothes.  You  know  how  they  '11 
come  in  streaks  that  way,  sometimes?  Why,  I 
was  thinkin'  of  havin'  'em  form  a  line,  one 

214 


A  TRY-OUT  FOE  TOODLEISM      215 

while.  Then  along  about  Thursday  one  of  my 
back  fletchers  develops  a  case  of  jumps.  What's 
a  fletcher?  Why,  a  steak  grinder,  and  this  one 
has  a  ripe  spot  in  it.  Course,  it's  me  for  the 
nickel  plated  plush  chair,  with  the  footrest  and 
runnin'  water  attached;  and  after  the  tooth 
doctor  has  explored  my  jaw  with  a  rock  drill 
and  a  few  other  cute  little  tools,  he  says  he'll 
kill  the  nerve. 

"  Don't,  Doc.!  "  says  I.  "  That  nerve's  al- 
ways been  a  friend  of  mine  until  lately. 
Wouldn't  dopin'  it  do!  " 

He  says  it  wouldn't,  that  nothin'  less'n  capi- 
tal punishment  would  reform  a  nerve  like  that ; 
so  I  tells  him  to  blaze  away.  No  use  goin'  into 
details.  Guess  you've  been  there. 

"  Say,  Doc.,"  says  I  once  when  he  was  fittin' 
a  fresh  auger  into  the  machine,  "  you  ain't  mis- 
takin'  me  for  the  guilty  party,  are  you?  ' 

"  Did  I  hurt?  "  says  he. 

"  You   don't   call   that   ticklin',   do   you?  ' 
says  I. 

But  he  only  grins  and  goes  on  with  the  exca- 
vation. After  he 's  blasted  out  a  hole  big  enough 
for  a  terminal  tunnel  he  jabs  in  a  hunk  of  cot- 
ton soaked  with  sulphuric  acid,  and  then  tamps 
down  the  concrete. 

11  There!  "  says- he,  handin'  me  a  drug  store 
drink  flavored  with  formaldehyde.  "  In  the 
course  of  forty-eight  hours  or  so  that  nerve  will 


216  ODD  NUMBERS 

be  as  dead  as  a  piece  of  string.  Meantime  it 
may  throb  at  intervals." 

That's  what  it  did,  too!  It  dies  as  hard  as 
a  campaign  lie.  About  every  so  often,  just  when 
I'm  forgettin',  it  wakes  up  again,  takes  a  fresh 
hold,  and  proceeds  to  give  an  imitation  of  a 
live  wire  on  an  alternatin'  circuit. 

"  Ahr  chee!  "  says  Swifty  Joe.  "  To  look 
at  the  map  of  woe  you're  carryin'  around,  you'd 
think  nobody  ever  had  a  bum  tusk  before. ' ' 

"  Nobody  ever  had  this  one  before,"  says  I, 
11  and  the  way  I  look  now  ain't  chronic,  like 
some  faces  I  know  of." 

' '  Ahr  chee !  ' '  says  Swifty,  which  is  his  way 
of  bringin'  in  a  minority  report. 

The  worst  of  it  was,  though,  I'm  billed  to 
show  up  at  Rockywold  for  a  May  party  that 
Sadie  and  Mrs.  Purdy-Pell  was  pullin'  off,  and 
when  I  lands  there  Friday  afternoon  the  jaw 
sensations  was  still  on  the  job.  I'm  feeling 
about  as  cheerful  and  chatty  as  a  Zoo  tiger  with 
ingrowin'  toenails.  So,  after  I've  done  the  po- 
lite handshake,  and  had  a  word  with  Sadie  on 
the  fly,  I  digs  out  my  exercise  uniform  and 
makes  a  sneak  down  into  their  dinky  little  gym., 
where  there's  a  first  class  punchin'  bag  that  I 
picked  out  for  Purdy-Pell  myself. 

You  know.  I  felt  like  I  wanted  to  hit  some- 
thing, and  hit  hard.  It  wa'n't  any  idle  impulse, 
either.  That  tooth  was  jumpin'  so  I  could  al- 


A  TRY-OUT  FOR  TOODLEISM      217 

most  feel  my  heels  leave  the  floor,  and  I  had 
emotions  that  it  would  take  more  than  language 
to  express  proper.  So  I  peels  off  for  it,  down 
to  a  sleeveless  jersey  and  a  pair  of  flannel  pants, 
and  starts  in  to  drum  out  the  devil's  tattoo  on 
that  pigskin  bag. 

I  was  so  busy  relievin'  my  feelin's  that  I 
didn't  notice  anything  float  in  the  door;  but 
after  awhile  I  looks  up  and  discovers  the  audi- 
ence. She's  a  young  female  party  that  I  didn't 
remember  havin'  seen  before  at  any  of  the 
Rockywold  doin's;  but  it  looks  like  she's  one  of 
the  guests,  all  right. 

Well,  I  hadn't  been  introduced,  and  I  couldn't 
see  what  she  was  buttin'  into  the  gym.  for,  any- 
way, so  I  keeps  right  on  punchin'  the  bag; 
thinkin'  that  if  she  was  shocked  any  by  my 
costume  she  'd  either  get  over  it,  or  beat  it  and 
have  a  fit. 

She's  one  of  the  kind  you  might  expect  'most 
anything  from, — one  of  these  long,  limp,  loppy, 
droop  eyed  fluffs,  with  terracotta  hair,  and  a 
prunes-and-prisms  mouth  all  puckered  to  say 
something  soulful.  She's  wearin'  a  whackin' 
big  black  feather  lid  with  a  long  plume  trailin' 
down  over  one  ear,  a  strawb'ry  pink  dress  cut 
accordin'  to  Louis  Catorz  designs, — waist  band 
under  her  armpits,  you  know, — and  nineteen- 
button  length  gloves.  Finish  that  off  with  a 
white  hen  feather  boa,  have  her  hands  clasped 


218  ODD  NUMBERS 

real  sliy  under  her  chin,  and  youVe  got  a  pic- 
ture of  what  I  sees  there  in  the  door.  But  it 
was  the  friendly  size-up  she  was  givin'  me,  and 
no  mistake.  She  must  have  hung  up  there  three 
or  four  minutes  too,  before  she  quits,  without 
sayin'  a  word. 

At  the  end  of  half  an  hour  I  was  feelin'  some 
better;  but  when  I'd  got  into  my  tailor  made  I 
didn't  have  any  great  enthusiasm  for  tacklin' 
food. 

"  Guess  I'll  appoint  this  a  special  fast  day 
for  mine,"  says  I  to  Sadie. 

* '  Why,  Shorty !  ' '  says  she.  '  *  Whatever  is 
the  matter?  '  And  she  has  no  sooner  heard 
about  the  touchy  tusk  than  she  says,  * '  Oh,  pooh ! 
Just  say  there  isn't  any  such  thing  as  tooth- 
ache. Pain,  you  know,  is  only  a  false  mental 
photograph,  an  error  of  the  mind,  and— 

"  Ah,  back*  up,  Sadie!  "  says  I.  "Do  you 
dream  I  don't  know  whether  this  jump  is  in 
my  brain  or  my  jaw?  This  is  no  halftone;  it's 
the  real  thing." 

"  Nonsense!  "  says  she.  "  You  come  right 
downstairs  and  see  Dr.  Toodle.  He'll  fix  it  in 
no  time." 

Seems  this  Toodle  was  the  one  the  party  had 
been  arranged  for,  and  Sadie  has  to  hunt  him 
up.  It  didn't  take  long  to  trail  him  down;  for 
pretty  soon  she  comes  towin'  him  into  the 


A  TRY-OUT  FOE  TOODLEISM      219 

drawin'-room,  where  I'm  camped  down  on  a 
sofa,  holdin'  on  with  both  hands. 

' '  Dr.  Toodle, ' '  says  she,  * '  I  want  to  present 
Mr.  McCabe." 

Now,  I  don't  claim  any  seventh-son  powers; 
but  I  only  has  to  take  one  look  at  Toodle  to 
guess  that  he's  some  sort  of  a  phony  article. 
No  reg'lar  pill  distributor  would  wear  around 
that  mushy  look  that  he  has  on.  He's  a  good 
sized,  wide  shouldered  duck,  with  a  thick  crop 
of  long  hair  that  just  clears  his  coat  collar,  and 
one  of  these  smooth,  soft,  sentimental  faces  the 
women  folks  go  nutty  over, — you  know,  big  nose, 
heavy  chin,  and  sagged  mouth  corners.  His 
get-up  is  something  between  a  priest's  and  an 
actor's, — frock  coat,  smooth  front  black  vest, 
and  a  collar  buttoned  behind.  He  gurgles  out 
that  he's  charmed  to  meet  Mr.  McCabe,  and 
wants  to  know  what's  wrong. 

11  Nothin'  but  a  specked  tooth,"  says  I.  "  But 
I  can  stand  it." 

"  My  de-e-ear  brother,"  says  Toodle,  puttin' 
his  fingers  together  and  gazin'  down  at  me  like 
a  prison  chaplain  givin'  a  talk  to  murderers' 
row,  "  you  are  possessed  of  mental  error.  Your 
brain  focus  has  been  disturbed,  and  a  blurred 
image  has  been  cast  on  the  sensitive  retina  of 
the " 

"  Ah,  say,  Doc.,"  says  I,  "  cut  out  the  pre- 


220  ODD  NUMBERS 

amble!  If  you've  got  a  cocaine  gun  in  your 
pocket,  dig  it  up !  ' 

Then  lie  goes  off  again  with  another  string 
of  gibberish,  about  pain  bein'  nothin'  but 
thought,  and  thought  bein'  something  we  could 
steer  to  suit  ourselves.  I  can't  give  you  the 
patter  word  for  word ;  but  the  nub  of  it  was  that 
I  could  knock  that  toothache  out  in  one  round 
just  by  thinkin'  hard.  Now  wouldn't  that  peeve 
you?  What? 

"  All  right,  Doc.,"  says  I.  "I'll  try  thinkin' 
I  ain't  got  any  ache,  if  you'll  sit  here  and  keep 
me  comp'ny  by  thinkin'  you've  had  your  din- 
ner. Is  it  a  go  ?  ' 

Well,  it  wa'n't.  He  shrugs  his  shoulders,  and 
says  he's  afraid  I'm  a  difficult  subject,  and  then 
he  teeters  off  on  his  toes.  Sadie  tells  me  I  ought 
to  be  ashamed  of  myself  for  tryin'  to  be  so 
fresh. 

"  He's  a  very  distinguished  man,"  she  says. 
' '  He 's  the  founder  of  Toodleism.  He 's  written 
a  book  about  it." 

' '  I  thought  he  looked  like  a  nutty  one, ' '  says 
I.  "  Keep  him  away  from  me;  I'll  be  all  right 
by  mornin'." 

The  argument  might  have  lasted  longer;  but 
just  then  comes  the  dinner  call,  and  they  all  goes 
in  where  the  little  necks  was  waitin'  on  the 
cracked  ice,  and  I'm  left  alone  to  count  the 
jumps  and  enjoy  myself.  Durin'  one  of  the 


A  TEY-OUT  FOE  TOODLEISM      221 

calm  spells  I  wanders  into  the  lib'ry,  picks  a 
funny  paper  off  the  table,  and  settles  down  in 
a  cozy  corner  to  read  the  jokes.  I  must  have 
been  there  near  an  hour,  when  in  drifts  the 
loppy  young  lady  in  the  pink  what-d  'ye-call-it, — 
the  one  I'd  made  the  silent  hit  with  in  the  gym., 
—and  she  makes  straight  for  me. 

"  Oh,  here  you  are!  "  says  she,  like  we  was 
old  friends.  "  Do  you  know,  I've  just  heard  of 
your — your  trouble." 

"  Ah,  it  ain't  any  killin'  matter,"  says  I.  "It 
don't  amount  to  much." 

"  Of  course  it  doesn't!  "  says  she.  "  And 
that  is  what  I  came  to  talk  to  you  about.  I  am 
Miss  Lee, — Violet  Lee." 

"  Ye-e-es?  "  says  I. 

"  You  see,"  she  goes  on,  "  I  am  Dr.  Toodle's 
secretary  and  assistant. ' ' 

"  Oh!  "  says  I.    "He's  in  luck,  then." 

"  Now,  now!  "  says  she,  just  like  that,  givin' 
me  a  real  giddy  tap  with  her  fan.  "  You  must 
be  real  serious." 

"I'm  in  condition  to  be  all  of  that,"  says 
I.  "  Are  you  plannin'  to  try  the— 

"  I  am  going  to  help  you  to  banish  the  imag- 
inary pains,  Mr.  McCabe,"  says  she.  "  Now 
first  you  must  repeat  after  me  the  summum 
bonum." 

"  Eh?  "  says  I. 

"  It's  very  simple,"  says  she,  floppm'  down 


222  ODD  NUMBERS 

on  the  cushions  alongside  and  reachin'  out  for 
one  of  my  hands.  "  It  begins  this  way,  '  I  am 
a  child  of  light  and  goodness.'  Now  say  that.'* 

Say,  how  would  you  duck  a  proposition  of 
that  kind?  There  was  Violet,  with  her  big  eyes 
rolled  at  me  real  pleadin',  and  her  mouth  puck- 
ered up  real  cunning,  and  the  soft,  clingin'  grip 
on  my  right  paw.  Well,  I  says  it  over. 

"  That's  it!  "  she  purrs.  "  Now,  '  Evil  and 
fear  and  pain  are  the  creatures  of  darkness.' 
Go  on!  " 

11  Sure  thing!  "  says  I.  "  '  Evil  and  fear 
and Ouch!  " 

Ever  feel  one  of  them  last  gasps  that  a  nerve 
gives  when  it  goes  out  of  business?  I  thought 
the  top  of  my  head  was  comin'  off.  But  it 
didn't,  and  a  couple  of  seconds  later  I  knew  the 
jumpin'  was  all  over;  so  I  straightens  my  face 
out,  and  we  proceeds  with  the  catechism. 

It  was  a  bird,  too.  I  didn't  mind  doin'  it 
at  all  with  Miss  Lee  there  to  help;  for,  in  spite 
of  her  loppy  ways,  she's  more  or  less  of  a  candy 
girl.  There  was  a  good  deal  to  it,  and  it  all 
means  the  same  as  what  Toodle  was  tryin'  to 
hand  out;  but  now  that  the  ache  has  quit  I'm 
ready  for  any  kind  of  foolishness. 

Violet  had  got  to  the  point  where  she  has 
snuggled  up  nice  and  close,  with  one  hand  still 
grippin'  mine  and  the  other  smoothin'  out  my 
jaw  while  she  told  me  again  how  pain  was  only  a 


A  TRY-OUT  FOE  TOODLEISM      223 

pipe  dream, — when  I  glances  over  her  shoulder 
and  sees  Sadie  floatin'  in  hangin'  to  Dr. 
Toodle 's  arm. 

And  does  Sadie  miss  the  tableau  in  our  cor- 
ner? Not  to  any  extent!  Her  eyebrows  go  up, 
and  her  mouth  comes  open.  That's  the  first  in- 
dication. Next  her  lips  shut  tight,  and  her  eyes 
narrow  down,  and  before  you  could  count  three 
she's  let  go  of  Toodle  as  if  he  was  a  hot  potato, 
and  she's  makin'  a  bee  line  for  the  cozy 
corner. 

"  Why!  "  says  Miss  Lee,  lookin'  up  and  fore- 
castin'  the  comin'  conditions  in  a  flash.  "  Is 
dinner  over  ?  Oh,  and  there 's  Dr.  Toodle !  ' '  and 
off  she  trips,  leavin'  the  McCabe  fam'ly  to  hold 
a  reunion. 

"  Well,  I  never!  "  says  Sadie,  givin'  me  the 
gimlet  gaze.  And  say,  she  puts  plenty  of  ex- 
pression into  them  three  words. 

' l  Me  either, ' '  says  I.  * '  Not  very  often,  any- 
way. But  a  chance  is  a  chance." 

"  I  hope  I  didn't  intrude?  "  says  she,  her  eyes 
snappin'. 

"  There's  no  tellin',"  says  L 

"  It  was  a  very  touching  scene!  "  says  she. 
11  Very!  " 

"  Wa  'n  't  it !  "  says.    I.    < <  Nice  girl,  Violet. ' ' 

"  Violet!  Humph!  "  says  she.  "  There's  no 
accounting  for  tastes!  " 

"  Just  what  I  was  thinkin'  when  I  see  you 


224  ODD  NUMBERS 

with  the  timelock  clutch  on  that  freak  doctor's 
south  wing,"  says  I. 

"  Dr.  Toodle,"  says  she,  "  was  explaining  to 
me  his  wonderful  self  healing  theories. ' ' 

"  And  dear  Violet,"  says  I,  "  was  puttin'  me 
through  a  course  of  sprouts  in  the  automatic 
toothache  cure." 

"  Oh,  indeed!  "  says  Sadie.  "  Was  patting 
your  cheek  part  of  it?  " 

"  I  hope  so,"  says  I. 

li  Huh!  "  says  she.    "  I  suppose  it  worked?  " 

"  Like  a  charm,"  says  I.  "  All  that  bothers 
me  now  is  how  I  can  dig  up  another  pain. ' ' 

' '  You  might  have  your  dear  Violet  see  what 
can  be  done  for  that  soft  spot  in  your  head!  " 
she  snaps.  "  Only  next  time  take  her  off  out 
of  sight,  please." 

"  Oh,  we'll  attend  to  that,  all  right,"  says  I. 
"  This  havin'  a  green  eyed  wife  buttin'  in  just 
at  the  interestin'  point  is  something  fierce!  ' 
And  that's  where  I  spread  it  on  too  thick. 

"  Don't  be  a  chump,  Shorty!  "  says  Sadie, 
lettin'  loose  a  sudden  giggle  and  mussin'  my 
hair  up  with  both  hands.  It's  a  way  she  has  of 
gettin'  out  of  a  corner,  and  she's  skipped  off  be- 
fore I'm  sure  whether  she's  still  got  a  grouch, 
or  is  only  lettin'  on. 

By  that  time  my  appetite  has  come  back;  so 
I  holds  up  the  butler  and  has  him  lay  out  a  soli- 
taire feed.  And  when  I  goes  back  to  the  crowd 


A  TEY-OUT  FOR  TOODLEISM      225 

again  I  finds  Toodle  has  the  center  of  the  stage, 
with  the  spotlight  full  on  him.  All  the  women 
are  gathered  round,  listening  to  his  guff  like  it 
was  sound  sense.  Seems  he's  organized  a  new 
deal  on  the  thought  cure  stunt,  and  he's  workin' 
it  for  all  it's  worth.  The  men,  though,  don't 
appear  so  excited  over  what  he's  sayin'. 

"  Confounded  rubbish,  I  call  it!  "  says  Mr. 
Purdy-Pell. 

"  You  ought  to  hear  it  from  Violet,"  says 
I.  "  She's  the  star  explainer  of  that  combina- 
tion." 

But  Violet  seems  to  have  faded  into  the  back- 
ground. We  don't  see  anything  more  of  her 
that  evenin',  nor  she  wa'n't  in  evidence  next 
mornin'.  Doc.  Toodle  was,  though.  He  begins 
by  tellin'  how  he  never  takes  anything  but  hot 
water  and  milk  on  risin';  but  that  in  the  middle 
of  the  forenoon  he  makes  it  a  point  to  put  away 
about  three  fresh  laid  eggs,  raw,  in  a  glass  of 
sherry. 

"  How  interesting!  "  says  Mrs.  Purdy-PelL 
' '  Then  we  must  drive  over  to  Fernbrook  Farm, 
right  after  breakfast,  and  get  some  of  their 
lovely  White  Leghorn  eggs." 

That  was  the  sort  of  excursion  I  was  rung 
into ;  so  the  bunch  of  us  piles  into  the  wagonette 
and  starts  for  a  fresh  supply  of  hen  fruit. 
When  we  gets  to  the  farm  the  superintendent 
invites  us  to  take  a  tour  through  the  incubator 


226  ODD  NUMBERS 

houses,  and  of  course  they  all  wants  to  see  the 
dear  little  chickies  and  so  on.  All  but  me.  I 
stays  and  chins  with  the  coachman  while  he 
walks  the  horses  around  the  driveway. 

In  about  half  an  hour  they  comes  troopin' 
back,  Toodle  in  the  lead,  luggin'  a  paper  bag  full 
of  warm  eggs.  He  don't  wait  for  the  others, 
but  pikes  for  the  wagonette  and  climbs  in  one 
of  the  side  seats  facin'  me.  We  was  just  turnin' 
to  back  up  to  the  block  for  the  ladies,  when  a 
yellow  kyoodle  dashes  around  the  corner  after 
a  cat.  Them  skittish  horses  was  just  waitin' 
for  some  such  excuse  as  that,  and  before  Mr. 
Driver  can  put  the  curb  bit  on  'em  hard  enough 
they've  done  a  quick  pivot,  cramped  the  wheels, 
and  turned  us  over  on  the  soggy  grass  as  neat 
as  anything  you  ever  see. 

Me  bein'  on  the  low  side,  I  strikes  the 
ground  first ;  but  before  I  can  squirm  out,  down 
comes  Toodle  on  top,  landin'  his  one  hundred 
and  ninety  pounds  so  sudden  that  it  knocks  the 
wind  clear  out  of  me.  He's  turned  over  on  the 
way  down,  so  I've  got  his  shoulder  borin'  into 
my  chest  and  the  heavy  part  of  him  on  my 
leg. 

Course,  the  women  squeals,  and  the  horses  cut 
up  some;  but  the  driver  has  landed  on  his  feet 
and  has  them  by  the  head  in  no  time  at  all,  so 
we  wa'n't  dragged  around  any.  Noticin'  that,  I 
lays  still  and  waits  for  Toodle  to  pry  himself 


A  TBY-OUT  FOE  TOODLEISM      227 

loose.  But  the  Doc.  don't  seem  in  any  hurry  to 
move,  and  the  next  thing  I  know  I  hear  him 
groanin'  and  mumblin'  under  his  breath.  Be- 
tween groans  he  was  tryin'  to  say  over  that  rig- 
marole of  his. 

"  I  am  a  child  of  light — Oh,  dear  me! — of 
light  and  goodness!  r  he  was  pantin'  out. 
"  Evil  and  fear  and — Oh,  my  poor  back! — and 
pain  are  creatures  of — Oh,  my,  oh  my ! — of  dark- 
ness !  Nothing  can  harm  me !  ': 

11  Say,  something  is  go  in'  to  harm  you  mighty 
sudden,"  says  I,  "if  you  don't  let  me  up  out 
of  this." 

"  Oh,  my  life  blood!  "  he  groans.  "  I  can 
feel  my  life  blood!  Oh,  oh!  I  am  a  child 
of " 

' '  Ah,  slush !  ' '  says  I.  ' '  Get  up  and  shake 
yourself.  Think  I'm  a  bloomin'  prayer  rug 
that  you  can  squat  on  all  day?  Eoll  over !  "  and 
I  manages  to  hand  him  a  short  arm  punch  in 
the  ribs  that  stirs  "Him  up  enough  so  I  can  slide 
out  from  under.  Soon's  I  get  on  my  feet  and 
can  hop  around  once  or  twice  I  finds  there's  no 
bones  stickin'  through,  and  then  I  turns  to  have 
a  look  at  him. 

And  say,  I  wouldn't  have  missed  that  exhibi- 
tion for  twice  the  shakin'  up  I  got!  There  he 
is,  stretched  out  on  the  wet  turf,  his  eyelids 
fluttering  his  breath  comin*  fast,  and  his  two 
hands  huggin'  tight  what's  left  of  that  bu'sted 


228  ODD  NUMBERS 

paper  bag,  right  up  against  the  front  of  his 
preacher 's  vest.  And  can  you  guess  what 's  hap- 
pened to  them  eggs  ? 

"  Oh,  my  life  blood!  "  he  keeps  on  moanin'. 
"  I  can  feel  it  oozing  through " 

"  Ah,  you're  switched,  Toodle!  '  says  I. 
*  *  Your  brain  kodak  is  out  of  register,  that 's  all. 
It  ain't  life  blood  you're  losin';  it's  only  your 
new  laid  omelet  that's  leakin'  over  your  vest 
front." 

About  then  I  gets  a  squint  at  Sadie  and  Mrs. 
Purdy-Pell,  and  they're  almost  chokin'  to  death 
in  a  funny  fit. 

Well,  say,  that  was  the  finish  of  Toodleisin 
with  the  Eockywold  bunch.  The  Doc.  didn't 
have  a  scratch  nor  a  bruise  on  him,  and  after 
he'd  been  helped  up  and  scraped  off,  he  was 
almost  as  good  as  new.  But  his  conversation 
works  is  clogged  for  good,  and  he  has  his  chin 
down  on  his  collar.  They  sends  him  and  Violet 
down  to  catch  the  next  train,  and  Sadie  and  Mrs. 
Purdy-Pell  spends  the  rest  of  the  day  givin' 
imitations  of  how  Toodle  hugged  up  the  eggs 
and  grunted  that  he  was  a  child  of  light. 

11  Not  that  I  don't  believe  there  was  some- 
thing in  what  he  said,"  Sadie  explains  to  me 
afterwards;  "  only — only-^ 

"  Only  he  was  a  false  alarm,  eh?  "  says  I. 
"  Well,  Violet  wa'n't  that  kind,  anyway." 


A  TRY-OUT  FOR  TOODLEISM      229 

"  Pooli!  "  says  she.  "  I  suppose  you'll  brag 
about  Violet  for  the  rest  of  your  life." 

Can  you  keep  'em  guessin '  long,  when  it  conies 
to  things  of  that  kind?  Not  if  they're  like 
Sadie. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE   CASE   OF   THE   TISCOTTS 

WHAT  I  had  on  the  slate  for  this  part'cular 
afternoon  was  a  brisk  walk  up  Broadway  as  far 
as  the  gasoline  district  and  a  little  soothin'  con- 
versation with  Mr.  Cecil  Slattery  about  the  new 
roadster  he's  tryin'  to  Paladino  me  into  placin' 
my  order  for.  I'd  just  washed  up  and  was  in 
the  gym.  giving  my  coat  a  few  licks  with  the 
whisk  broom,  when  Swifty  Joe  comes  tiptoein' 
in,  taps  me  on  the  shoulder,  and  points  solemn 
into  the  front  office. 

"  That's  right,"  says  I,  "  break  it  to  me 
gentle. ' ' 

"  Get  into  it  quick!  "  says  he,  grabbin'  the 
coat. 

11  Eh!  "  says  I.    "  Fire,  police,  or  what 3  " 

"  S-s-sh!  "  says  he.    "  Lady  to  see  you." 

"  What  kind,"  says  I,  "  perfect,  or  just  plain 
lady?  And  what's  her  name?  " 

"  Ahr-r-r  chee!  "  he  whispers,  hoarse  and 
stagy.  "  Didn't  I  tell  you  it  was  a  lady?  Get 
a  move  on!  "  and  he  lifts  me  into  the  sleeves 
and  yanks  away  the  whisk  broom. 

"  See  here,  Swifty,"  says  I,  "  if  this  is  an- 

230 


THE  CASE  OF  THE  TISCOTTS     231 

other  of  them  hot  air  demonstrators,  or  a  book 
agent,  there'll  be  trouble  comin'  your  way  in 
bunches !  Remember,  now !  ' 

Here  was  once,  though,  when  Swifty  hadn't 
made  any  mistake.  Not  that  he  shows  such  won- 
derful intelligence  in  this  case.  With  her 
wearin'  all  them  expensive  furs,  and  the  cute 
little  English  footman  standin*  up  straight  in 
his  yellow  topped  boots  over  by  the  door,  who 
wouldn't  have  known  she  was  a  real  lady? 

She's  got  up  all  in  black,  not  exactly  a 
mournin'  costume,  but  one  of  these  real  broad- 
cloth regalias,  plain  but  classy.  She's  a  tall, 
slim  party,  and  from  the  three-quarters'  view  I 
gets  against  the  light  I  should  guess  she  was 
goin'  on  thirty  or  a  little  past  it.  All  she's 
armed  with  is  a  roll  of  paper,  and  as  I  steps  in 
she's  drummin'  with  it  on  the  window  sill. 

Course,  we  has  all  kinds  driftin'  into  the 
studio  here,  by  mistake  and  otherwise,  and  I 
gen 'rally  makes  a  guess  on  'em  right;  but  this 
one  don't  suggest  anything  at  all.  Even  that 
rat  faced  tiger  of  hers  could  have  told  her  this 
wa'n't  any  French  millinery  parlor,  and  she 
didn't  look  like  one  who'd  get  off  the  trail  any- 
way. So  I  plays  a  safety  by  coughin'  polite  be- 
hind my  hand  and  lettin'  her  make  the  break. 
She  ain't  backward  about  it,  either. 

"  Why,  there  you  are,  Professor  McCabe!  " 
says  she,  in  that  gushy,  up  and  down  tone,  like 


232  ODD  NUMBERS 

she  was  usin'  language  as  some  sort  of  throat 
gargle.  * '  How  perfectly  dear  of  you  to  be  here, 
too!" 

"  Yes,  ain't  it?  "  says  I.  ''I've  kind  of  got 
into  the  habit  of  bein'  here." 

11  Really,  now!  "  says  she,  smilin'  just  as 
though  we  was  earryin'  on  a  sensible  conversa- 
tion. And  it's  a  swagger  stunt  too,  this  talkin' 
without  sayin'  anything.  When  you  get  so  you 
can  keep  it  up  for  an  hour  you're  qualified  either 
for  the  afternoon  tea  class  or  the  batty  ward. 
But  the  lady  ain't  here  just  to  pay  a  social  call. 
She  makes  a  quick  shift  and  announces  that 
she's  Miss  Colliver,  also  hoping  that  I  remem- 
ber her. 

"  Why,  sure,"  says  I.  "  Miss  Ann,  ain't  it?  " 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  only  time  we  was 
ever  within  speakin'  distance  was  once  at  the 
Purdy-Pells'  when  she  blew  in  for  a  minute  just 
at  dinner  time,  lifted  a  bunch  of  American  Beau- 
ties off  the  table  with  the  excuse  that  they  was 
just  what  she  wanted  to  send  to  the  Blind  Asy- 
lum, and  blew  out  again. 

But  of  course  I  couldn't  help  knowin'  who 
she  was  and  all  about  her.  Ain't  the  papers 
always  full  of  her  charity  doin's,  her  funds  for 
this  and  that,  and  her  new  discoveries  of 
shockin'  things  about  the  poor?  Ain't  she  built 
up  a  rep  as  a  lady  philanthropist  that's  too  busy 
doing  good  to  ever  get  married?  Maybe  Mrs. 


THE  CASE  OF  THE  TISCOTTS     233 

Eussell  Sage  and  Helen  Gould  has  gained  a  few 
laps  on  her  lately;  but  when  it  comes  to  startin' 
things  for  the  Tattered  Tenth  there  ain't  many 
others  that's  got  much  on  her. 

"Gee!'  thinks  I.  "Wonder  what  she's 
going  to  do  for  me?  ' 

I  ain't  left  long  in  doubt.  She  backs  me  up 
against  the  desk  and  cuts  loose  with  the  straight 
talk.  "  I  came  in  to  tell  you  about  my  new 
enterprise,  Piny  Crest  Court,"  says  she. 

"  Apartment  house,  is  it?  "  says  I. 

"  No,  no!  "  says  she.  "  Haven't  you  read 
about  it?  It's  to  be  a  white  plague  station  for 
working  girls." 

' '  A  white — white Oh !  For  lungers, 

eh?" 

"  We  never  speak  of  them  in  that  way,  you 
know,"  says  she,  handin'  me  the  reprovin'  look. 
11  Piny  Crest  Court  is  the  name  I've  given  to 
the  site.  Eather  sweet,  is  it  not?  Really  there 
are  no  pines  on  it,  you  know;  but  I  shall  have 
a  few  set  out.  The  buildings  are  to  be  per- 
fectly lovely.  I've  just  seen  the  architect's 
plans, — four  open  front  cottages  grouped 
around  an  administration  infirmary,  the  super- 
intendent's office  to  be  finished  in  white  ma- 
hogany and  gold,  and  the  directors'  room  in  Cir- 
cassian walnut,  with  a  stucco  frieze  after  della 
Eobbia.  Don't  you  simply  love  those  Eobbia 
bambinos?  " 


234  ODJ)  NUMBERS 

"  Great!  "  says  I,  lyin'  as  easy  and  genteel 
as  if  I  had  lots  of  practice. 

"  I  am  simply  crazy  to  have  the  work 
started, ' '  she  goes  on ;  "  so  I  am  spending  three 
afternoons  a  week  in  filling  up  my  lists.  Every- 
one responds  so  heartily,  too.  Now,  let  me  see, 
I  believe  I  have  put  you  down  for  a  life  mem- 
bership." 

"  Eh?  "  says  I,  gaspin'  some;  for  it  ain't 
often  I'm  elected  to  things. 

11  You  will  have  the  privilege  of  voting  for 
board  members  and  of  recommending  two  ap- 
plicants a  year.  A  life  membership  is  two  hun- 
dred and  fifty  dollars." 

"  You  mean  I  get  two-fifty,"  says  I,  "  for — 
for  just " 

Then  I  came  to.  And,  say,  did  you  ever  know 
such  a  bonehead?  Honest,  though,  from  all  I'd 
heard  of  the  way  she  spreads  her  money  around, 
and  the  patronizin'  style  she  has  of  puttin'  this 
proposition  up  to  me,  I  couldn't  tell  for  a  min- 
ute how  she  meant  it.  And  when  I  suddenly  sur- 
rounds the  idea  that  it's  me  gives  up  the  two- 
fifty,  I'm  so  fussed  that  I  drops  back  into  the 
chair  and  begins  to  hunt  through  the  desk  for  my 
checkbook.  And  then  I  feels  myself  growin'  a 
little  warm  behind  the  ears. 

"  So  you  just  put  me  down  offhand  for  two 
hundred  and  fifty,  did  you?  "  says  I. 

* '  If  you  wish, ' '  says  she,  ' '  you  may  take  out 


THE  CASE  OF  THE  TISCOTTS     235 

a  life  certificate  for  each  member  of  your  fam- 
ily. Several  have  done  that.  Let  me  show  you 
my  list  of  subscribers.  See,  here  are  some  of 
the  prominent  merchants  and  manufacturing 
firms.  I  haven't  begun  on  the  brokers  and  bank- 
ers yet;  but  you  will  be  in  good  company." 

"  Ye-e-esf  "  says  I,  runnin'  my  eye  over  the 
firm  names.  "  But  I  don't  know  much  about 
this  scheme  of  yours,  Miss  Colliver.'' 

"  Why,  it  is  for  working  girls,"  says  she, 
'  *  who  are  victims  of  the  white  plague.    We  take 
them  up  to  Piny  Crest  and  cure  them." 
•  "  Of  working?  "  says  I. 

"  Of  the  plague,"  says  she.  "  It  is  going  to 
be  the  grandest  thing  I've  done  yet.  And  I 
have  the  names  of  such  a  lot  of  the  most  inter- 
esting cases ;  poor  creatures,  you  know,  who  are 
suffering  in  the  most  wretched  quarters.  I  do 
hope  they  will  last  until  the  station  is  finished. 
It  means  finding  a  new  lot,  if  they  don't,  and 
the  public  organizations  are  becoming  so  active 
in  that  sort  of  thing,  don't  you  see?  ' 

Somehow,  I  don't  catch  it  all,  she  puts  over 
her  ideas  so  fast;  but  I  gather  that  she'd  like  to 
have  me  come  up  prompt  with  my  little  old  two- 
fifty  so  she  can  get  busy  givin'  out  the  contracts. 
Seein'  me  still  hangin'  back,  though,  she's 
willin'  to  spend  a  few  minutes  more  in  de- 
scribin'  some  of  the  worst  cases,  which  she  pro- 
ceeds to  do. 


236  ODD  NUMBERS 

"  We  estimate,"  says  Miss  Ann  as  a  final 
clincher,  "  that  the  average  cost  is  about  fifty 
dollars  per  patient.  Now,"  and  she  sticks  the 
subscription  list  into  my  fist,  "  here  is  an  op- 
portunity! Do  you  wish  to  save  five  human 
lives?  " 

Ever  had  it  thrown  into  you  like  that?  The 
sensation  is  a  good  deal  like  bein'  tied  to  a  post 
and  havin'  your  pockets  frisked  by  a  holdup 
gang.  Anyway,  that's  the  way  I  felt,  and  then 
the  next  minute  I'm  ashamed  of  havin'  any  such 
feelings  at  all;  for  there's  no  denyin'  that  doz- 
ens of  cases  like  she  mentions  can  be  dug  up  in 
any  crowded  block.  Seems  kind  of  inhuman, 
too,  not  to  want  chip  in  and  help  save  'em.  And 
yet  there  I  was  gettin'  grouchy  over  it,  with- 
out knowin'  why! 

11  Well,"  says  I,  squirmin'  in  the  chair,  "  I'd 
like  to  save  five  hundred,  if  I  could.  How  many 
do  you  say  you're  going  to  take  care  of  up  at 
this  new  place?  " 

"  Sixty,"  says  she.  "  I  select  the  most  piti- 
ful cases.  I  am  taking  some  things  to  one  of 
them  now.  I  wish  you  could  see  the  awful 
misery  in  that  home!  I  could  take  you  down 
there,  you  know,  and  show  you  what  a  squalid 
existence  they  lead,  these  Tiscotts." 

"Tiscotts!"  says  I,  prickin'  up  my  ears. 
11  What  Tiscotts?  What's  his  first  name?  " 

11  I  never  heard  the  husband  mentioned," 


THE  CASE  OF  THE  TISCOTTS     237 

says  Miss  Ann.  "  I  doubt  if  there  is  one.  The 
woman's  name,  I  think,  is  Mrs.  Anthony  Tis- 
cott.  Of  course,  unless  you  are  really  inter- 
ested  " 

* '  I  am, ' '  says  I.  "  I  'm  ready  to  go  when  you 
are. ' ' 

That  seems  to  jar  Miss  Colliver  some,  and 
she  tries  a  little  shifty  sidestepping ;  but  I  puts 
it  up  to  her  as  flat  as  she  had  handed  it  to  me 
about  savin'  the  five  lives.  It  was  either  make 
good  or  welsh,  and  she  comes  to  the  scratch 
cheerful. 

"  Very  well,  then,"  says  she,  "  we  will  drive 
down  there  at  once." 

So  it's  me  into  the  victoria  alongside  of  Miss 
Ann,  with  the  fat  coachman  pilotin'  us  down 
Fifth-ave.  to  14th,  then  across  to  Third-ave., 
and  again  down  and  over  to  the  far  East 
Side. 

I  forget  the  exact  block;  but  it's  one  of  the 
old  style  double-deckers,  with  rusty  fire  escapes 
decorated  with  beddin'  hung  out  to  air,  dark 
hallways  that  has  a  perfume  a  garbage  cart 
would  be  ashamed  of,  rickety  stairs,  plasterin' 
all  gone  off  the  halls,  and  other  usual  signs  of 
real  estate  that  the  agents  squeeze  fifteen  per 
cent,  out  of.  You  know  how  it's  done,  by  fixin' 
the  Buildin'  and  Board  of  Health  inspectors, 
jammin'  from  six  to  ten  f  am 'lies  in  on  a  floor, 
never  makin'  any  repairs,  and  collectin'  weekly 


238  ODD  NUMBERS 

rents  or  servin'  dispossess  notices  prompt  when 
they  don't  pay  up. 

Lovely  place  to  hang  up  one  of  the  "  Home, 
Sweet  Home  ' '  mottoes !  There 's  a  water  tap  in 
every  hall,  so  all  the  tenants  can  have  as  much 
as  they  want,  stove  holes  in  most  of  the  rooms, 
and  you  buy  your  coal  by  the  bucket  at  the  rate 
of  about  fourteen  dollars  a  ton.  Only  three 
a  week  for  a  room,  twelve  dollars  a  month. 
Course,  that's  more  per  room  than  you'd  pay 
on  the  upper  West  Side  with  steam  heat,  ele- 
vator service,  and  a  Tennessee  marble  entrance 
hall  thrown  in;  but  the  luxury  of  stowin'  a 
whole  fam'ly  into  one  room  comes  high.  Or 
maybe  the  landlords  are  doin'  it  to  discourage 
poverty. 

*  *  This  is  where  the  Tiscotts  hang  out,  is  it  ?  ' 
gays  I.    "  Shall  I  lug  the  basket  for  you,  Miss 
Colliver?  " 

1 1  Dear  no !  "  says  she.  i  l  I  never  go  into  such 
places.  I  always  send  the  things  in  by  Hutch- 
ins.  He  will  bring  Mrs.  Tiscott  down  and  she 
will  tell  us  about  her  troubles." 

"  Let  Hutchins  sit  on  the  box  this  time,"  says 
I,  grabbin'  up  the  basket.  "  Besides,  I  don't 
want  any  second  hand  report." 

11  But  surely,"  puts  in  Miss  Ann,  "  you  are 
not  going  into  such  a " 

"  Why  not?  "  says  I.  "  I  begun  livin'  in  one 
just  like  it." 


THE  CASE  OF  THE  TISCOTTS     239 

At  that  Miss  Ann  settles  back  under  the  robe, 
shrugs  her  shoulders  into  her  furs,  and  waves 
for  me  to  go  ahead. 

Half  a  dozen  kids  on  the  doorstep  told  me  in 
chorus  where  I'd  find  the  Tiscotts,  and  after 
IVe  climbed  up  through  four  layers  of  stale 
cabbage  and  fried  onion  smells  and  felt  my  way 
along  to  the  third  door  left  from  the  top  of  the 
stairs,  I  makes  my  entrance  as  the  special  mes- 
senger of  the  ministerin'  angel. 

It's  the  usual  fam'ly-room  tenement  scene, 
such  as  the  slum  writers  are  so  fond  of  de- 
scribin'  with  the  agony  pedal  down  hard,  only 
there  ain't  quite  so  much  dirt  and  rags  in  evi- 
dence as  they'd  like.  There's  plenty,  though. 
Also  there's  a  lot  of  industry  on  view.  Over 
Nby  the  light  shaft  window  is  Mrs.  Tiscott, 
pumpin'  a  sewin'  machine  like  she  was  entered 
in  a  twenty-four-hour  endurance  race,  with  a 
big  bundle  of  raw  materials  at  one  side.  In 
front  of  her  is  the  oldest  girl,  sewin'  buttons 
onto  white  goods ;  while  the  three  younger  kids, 
includin'  the  four-year-old  boy,  are  spread  out 
around  the  table  in  the  middle  of  the  room, 
pickin'  nut  meat  into  the  dishpan. 

What's  the  use  of  tellin'  how  Mrs.  Tiscott 's 
stringy  hair  was  bobbed  up,  or  the  kind  of  wrap- 
per she  had  on!  You  wouldn't  expect  her  to 
be  sportin'  a  Sixth-ave.  built  pompadour,  or 
a  lingerie  reception  gown,  would  you!  And 


240  ODD  NUMBERS 

where  they  don't  have  Swedish  nursery  gov- 
ernesses and  porcelain  tubs,  the  youngsters  are 

apt  not  to  be  so But  maybe  you'll  relish 

your  nut  candy  and  walnut  cake  better  if  we 
skip  some  details  about  the  state  of  the  kids' 
hands.  What's  the  odds  where  the  contractors 
gets  such  work  done,  so  long  as  they  can  shave 
their  estimates? 

The  really  int'restin'  exhibit  in  this  fam'ly 
group,  of  course,  is  the  bent  shouldered,  peaked 
faced  girl  who  has  humped  herself  almost  double 
and  is  slappin'  little  pearl  buttons  on  white 
goods  at  the  rate  of  twenty  a  minute.  And 
there's  no  deception  about  her  being  a  fine  case 
for  Piny  Crest.  You  don't  even  have  to  hear 
that  bark  of  hers  to  know  it. 

I  stands  there  lookin'  'em  over  for  a  whole 
minute  before  anybody  pays  any  attention  to 
me.     Then  Mrs    Tiscott  glances  up  and  stops 
her  machine. 

II  Who's  that!  "  she  sings  out.    "  What  do 

you Why !    Well,  of  all  things,  Shorty  Mc- 

Cabe,  what  brings  you  here?  ' 

"  I'm  playin'  errand  boy  for  the  kind  Miss 
Colliver,"  says  I,  holdin'  up  the  basket. 

Is  there  a  grand  rush  my  way,  and  glad  cries, 
and  tears  of  joy?  Nothing  doing  in  the  thank- 
ful hysterics  line. 

"  Oh!  "  says  Mrs.  Tiscott.  "  Well,  let's  see 
what  it  is  this  time."  And  she  proceeds  to 


THE  CASE  OF  THE  TISCOTTS     241 

dump  out  Miss  Ann's  contribution.  There's  a 
glass  of  gooseb'ry  bar  le  due,  another  of  guava 
jelly,  a  little  can  of  pate  de  foie  gras,  and  half 
a  dozen  lady  fingers. 

"  Huh!  "  says  she,  shovin'  the  truck  over  on 
the  window  sill.  As  she's  expressed  my  senti- 
ments too,  I  lets  it  go  at  that. 

"  Looks  like  one  of  your  busy  days,"  says  I. 

11  One  of  'em !  "  says  she  with  a  snort,  yankin' 
some  more  pieces  out  of  the  bundle  and  slippin' 
a  fresh  spool  of  cotton  onto  the  machine. 

"  What's  the  job?  "  says  I. 

"  Baby  dresses,"  says  she. 

"  Good  money  in  it?  "  says  I. 

"Oh,  sure!'  says  she.  "Forty  cents  a 
dozen  is  good,  ain't  it?  ' 

'  *  What  noble  merchant  prince  is  so  generous 
to  you  as  all  that?  "  says  I. 

Mrs.  Tiscott,  she  shoves  over  the  sweater's 
shop  tag  so  I  can  read  for  myself.  Curious, — 
wa'n't  it? — but  it's  the  same  firm  whose  name 
heads  the  Piny  Crest  subscription  list.  It's 
time  to  change  the  subject. 

"  How's  Annie?  "  says  I,  lookin'  over  at  her. 

"  Her  cough  don't  seem  to  get  any  better," 
says  Mrs.  Tiscott.  "  She's  had  it  since  she 
had  to  quit  work  in  the  gas  mantle  shop.  That's 
where  she  got  it.  The  dust,  you  know." 

Yes,  I  knew.    "  How  about  Tony?  "  says  I. 

' '  Tony !  ' '  says  she,  hard  and  bitter.    ' '  How 


242  ODD  NUMBERS 

do  I  know?  He  ain't  been  near  us  for  a  month 
past." 

"  Sends  in  something  of  a  Saturday,  don't 
he?  "  says  I. 

"  Would  I  be  lettin'  the  likes  of  her— that 
Miss  Colliver — come  here  if  he  did,"  says  she, 
"  or  workin'  my  eyes  out  like  this?  * 

"  I  thought  Lizzie  was  in  a  store?  "  says  I, 
noddin'  towards  the  twelve-year-old  girl  at  the 
nut  pickin'  table. 

"  They  always  lays  off  half  the  bundle  girls 
after  Christmas,"  says  Mrs.  Tiseott.  "  That's 
why  we  don't  see  Tony  regular  every  payday 
any  more.  He  had  the  nerve  to  claim  most  of 
Lizzie's  envelope." 

Then  it  was  my  turn  to  say  "  Huh !  " 

"  Why  don't  you  have  him  up?  "  says  I. 

"I'm  a-scared,"  says  she.  "  He's  promised 
to  break  my  head." 

' '  Think  he  would  ?  ' '  says  I. 

"  Yes,"  says  she.  "  He's  changed  for  the 
worse  lately.  He'd  do  it,  all  right,  if  I  took  him 
to  court." 

"  What  if  I  stood  ready  to  break  his,  eh?  " 
says  I.  "  Would  that  hold  him?  " 

Say,  it  wa'n't  an  elevatin'  or  cheerful  con- 
versation me  and  Mrs.  Tiseott  indulged  in;  but 
it  was  more  or  less  to  the  point.  She's  some 
int 'rested  in  the  last  proposition  of  mine,  and 
when  I  adds  a  few  frills  about  givin'  a  butcher's 


THE  CASE  OF  THE  TISCOTTS     243 

order  and  standin'  for  a  sack  of  potatoes,  she 
agrees  to  swear  out  the  summons  for  Tony, 
providin'  I'll  hand  it  to  him  and  be  in  court 
to  scare  the  liver  out  of  him  when  she  talks  to 
the  Justice. 

'  *  I  hate  to  do  it  too, ' '  says  she. 

"  I  know,"  says  I;  "  but  no  meat  or  potatoes 
from  me  unless  you  do !  ' 

Sounds  kind  of  harsh,  don't  it?  You'd  think 
I  had  a  special  grudge  against  Tony  Tiscott  too. 
But  say,  it's  only  because  I  know  him  and  his 
kind  so  well.  Nothing  so  peculiar  about  his 
case.  Lots  of  them  swell  coachmen  go  that  way, 
and  in  his  day  Tony  has  driven  for  some  big 
people.  Him  and  me  got  acquainted  when  he 
was  wearin'  the  Twombley-Crane  livery  and 
drawin'  down  his  sixty-five  a  month.  That 
wa'n't  so  long  ago,  either. 

But  it's  hard  waitin'  hours  on  the  box  in 
cold  weather,  and  they  get  to  boozin'.  When 
they  hit  it  up  too  free  they  lose  their  places. 
After  they've  lost  too  many  places  they  don't 
get  any  more.  Meantime  they've  accumulated 
rheumatism  and  a  fam'ly  of  kids.  They've  got 
lazy  habits  too,  and  new  jobs  don't  come  easy 
at  forty.  The  next  degree  is  loafin'  around 
home  permanent;  but  they  ain't  apt  to  find  that 
so  pleasant  unless  the  wife  is  a  good  hustler. 
Most  likely  she  rows  it.  So  they  chuck  the 
fam'ly  and  drift  off  by  themselves. 


244  ODD  NUMBEES 

That's  the  sort  of  chaps  you'll  find  on  the 
bread  lines.  .But  Tony  hadn't  quite  got  to  that 
yet.  I  knew  the  corner  beer  joint  where  he  did 
odd  jobs  as  free  lunch  carver  and  window 
cleaner.  Also  I  knew  the  line  of  talk  I  meant  to 
hand  out  to  him  when  I  got  my  fingers  on  his 
collar. 

"  "Well?  "  says  Miss  Ann,  when  I  conies  back 
with  the  empty  basket.  "  Did  you  find  it  an 
interesting  case?  ' 

"  Maybe  that's  the  word,"  says  I. 

"  You  saw  the  young  woman,  did  you?  "  says 
she,  "  the  one  who  -  " 


" 


Sure,"  says  I.    "  She's  got  it—  bad." 

"  Ah!  '  says  Miss  Ann,  brightenin'  up. 
"  And  now  about  that  life  membership!  " 

'  '  Well,  '  '  says  I,  *  '  the  Piny  Crest  proposi- 
tion is  all  right,  and  I'd  like  to  see  it  started; 
but  the  fact  is,  Miss  Colliver,  if  I  should  put  my 
name  down  with  all  them  big  people  I'd  be 
runnin'  out  of  my  class." 

"  You  would  be  —  er  -  Beg  pardon,"  says 
she,  "  but  I  don't  think  I  quite  get  you?  ' 

I'd  suspected  she  wouldn't.  But  how  was  I 
going  to  dope  out  to  her  clear  and  straight 
what's  so  muddled  up  in  my  own  head?  You 
know,  all  about  how  Annie  got  her  cough,  and 
my  feelin's  towards  the  firms  that's  sweatin' 
the  Tiscotts,  from  the  baby  up,  and  a  lot  of 
other  things  that  I  can't  state. 


THE  CASE  OF  THE  TISCOTTS     245 

11  As  I  said,"  goes  on  Miss  Colliver,  "  I 
hardly  think  I  understand." 

"  Me  either,"  says  I.  "  My  head's  just  a 
merry  go  round  of  whys  and  whatfors.  But,  as 
far  as  that  fund  of  yours  goes,  I  don't  come  in." 

"  Humph!  "  says  she.  "  That,  at  least,  is 
quite  definite.  Home,  Hutchins !  ' ' 

And  there  I  am  left  on  the  curb  lookin'  fool- 
ish. Me,  I  don't  ride  back  to  the  studio  on  any 
broadcloth  cushions!  Serves  me  right  too,  I 
expect.  I  feels  mean  and  low  down  all  the  rest 
of  the  day,  until  I  gets  some  satisfaction  by 
huntin'  up  Tony  and  throwin'  such  a  scare  into 
him  that  he  goes  out  and  finds  a  porter's  job 
and  swears  by  all  that's  holy  he'll  take  up  with 
the  fam'ly  again. 

But  think  of  the  chance  I  passed  up  of 
breakin'  into  the  high  toned  philanthropy  class ! 


CHAPTER  XVI 

CLASSING   TT7TWATER   BIGHT 

MAYBE  that  brass  plate  had  been  up  in  the 
lower  hall  of  our  buildin'  a  month  or  so  before 
I  takes  any  partic'lar  notice  of  it.  Even  when 
I  did  get  my  eye  on  it  one  mornin'  it  only  gets 
me  mildly  curious.  "  Tutwater,  Director  of  En- 
terprises, Boom  37,  Fourth  Floor,"  is  all  it  says 
on  it. 

"  Huh!  "  thinks  I.  "  That's  goin'  some  for 
a  nine  by  ten  coop  under  the  skylight. " 

And  with  that  I  should  have  let  it  drop,  I 
expect.  But  what's  the  use?  Where's  the  fun 
of  livin',  if  you  can't  mix  in  now  and  then.  And 
you  know  how  I  am. 

Well,  I  comes  pikin'  up  the  stairs  one  day  not 
long  after  discoverin'  the  sign,  and  here  on  my 
landin',  right  in  front  of  the  studio  door,  I  finds 
this  Greek  that  runs  the  towel  supply  wagon 
usin'  up  his  entire  United  States  vocabulary  on 
a  strange  gent  that  he 's  backed  into  a  corner. 

"  Easy,  there,  easy,  Mr.  Poulykopolis !  "  says 
I.  "  This  ain't  any  golf  links,  where  you  can 
smoke  up  the  atmosphere  with  language  like 
that.  What's  the  row,  anyway?  " 

346 


"  No  pay  for  five  week;  always  nex'  time, 
he  tells,  nex'  time.  Gr-r-r-r!  I  am  strong  to 
slap  his  life  out,  me!  "  says  Pouly,  thumpin' 
his  chest  and  shakin'  his  black  curls.  They  sure 
are  fierce  actin'  citizens  when  they're  excited, 
these  Marathoners. 

"  Yes,  you  would!  "  says  I.  "  Slap  his  life 
out!  G'wan!  If  he  handed  you  one  jolt  you 
wouldn't  stop  runnin'  for  a  week.  How  big  is 
this  national  debt  you  say  he  owes  you!  How 
much?  " 

"  Five  week!  "  says  Pouly.  "  One  dollar 
twenty-five. ' ' 

"  Sufferin'  Shylocks!  All  of  that?  WeU, 
neighbor,"  says  I  to  the  strange  gent,  "  has  he 
stated  it  correct?  ' 

"  Perfectly,  sir,  perfectly/'  says  the  party  of 
the  second  part.  "  I  do  not  deny  the  indebted- 
ness in  the  least.  I  was  merely  trying  to  explain 
to  this  agent  of  cleanliness  that,  having  been 
unable  to  get  to  the  bank  this  morning,  I  should 
be  obliged  to " 

"  Why,  of  course,"  says  I.  "  And  in  that 
case  allow  me  to  stake  you  to  the  price  of  peace. 
Here  you  are,  Pouly.  Now  go  out  in  the  sun 
and  cool  off." 

"  My  dear  sir,"  says  the  stranger,  followin' 
me  into  the  front  office,  "  permit  me  to " 

"  Ah,  never  mind  the  resolutions!  "  says  I, 
"  It  was  worth  riskin'  that  much  for  the  sake 


248  ODD  NUMBERS 

of  stoppin'  the  riot.  Yes,  I  know  you'll  pay  it 
back.  Let's  see,  which  is  your  floor!  " 

"  Top,  sir,"  says  he,  "  room  37." 

11  Oh  ho !  "  says  I.  "  Then  you're  the  enter- 
prise director,  Tutwater?  " 

"  And  your  very  humble  servant,  sir,"  says 
he,  bringin'  his  yellow  Panama  lid  off  with  a 
full  arm  sweep,  and  thro  win'  one  leg  graceful 
over  the  back  of  a  chair. 

At  that  I  takes  a  closer  look  at  him,  and  be- 
fore I've  got  half  through  the  inspection  I've 
waved  a  sad  farewell  to  that  one  twenty-five. 
From  the  frayed  necktie  down  to  the  runover 
shoes,  Tutwater  is  a  walkin'  example  of  the 
poor  debtor's  oath.  The  shiny  seams  of  the 
black  frock  coat  shouts  of  home  pressing  and 
the  limp  way  his  white  vest  fits  him  suggests 
that  he  does  his  own  laundry  work  in  the  wash- 
bowl. But  he's  clean  shaved  and  clean  brushed, 
and  you  can  guess  he's  seen  the  time  when  he 
had  such  things  done  for  him  in  style. 

Yet  there  ain't  anything  about  the  way  Tut- 
water carries  himself  that  signifies  he's  down 
and  qut.  Not  much!  He's  got  the  easy,  confi- 
dent swing  to  his  shoulders  that  you  might  ex- 
pect from  a  sport  who'd  just  picked  three  win- 
ners runnin'. 

Rather  a  tall,  fairly  well  built  gent  he  is,  with 
a  good  chest  on  him,  and  he  has  one  of  these 
eager,  earnest  faces  that  shows  he 's  alive  all  the 


CLASSING  TUTWATER  RIGHT     249 

time.  You  wouldn't  call  him  a  handsome  man, 
though,  on  account  of  the  deep  furrows  down 
each  side  of  his  cheeks  and  the  prominent  jut 
to  his  eyebrows;  but,  somehow,  when  he  gets 
to  talkin',  them  eyes  of  his  lights  up  so  you 
forget  the  rest  of  his  features. 

You've  seen  chaps  like  that.  Gen 'rally  they're 
cranks  of  some  kind  or  other,  and  when  they 
ain't  they're  topliners.  So  I  puts  Tutwater 
down  as  belongin'  to  the  crank  class,  and  it 
wa'n't  long  before  he  begun  livin'  up  to  the 
description. 

"  Director  of  enterprises,  eh?  '  says  I. 
"  That's  a  new  one  on  me." 

"  Naturally,"  says  he,  wavin'  his  hand,  "  con- 
sidering that  I  am  first  in  the  field.  It  is  a 
profession  I  am  creating." 

So?  "  says  I.    "  Well,  how  are  you  comin' 


. . 


"  Excellently,  sir,  excellently,"  says  he.  "I 
have  found,  for  the  first  time  in  my  somewhat 
varied  career,  full  scope  for  what  I  am  pleased 
to  call  my  talents.  Of  course,  the  work  of  pre- 
paring the  ground  is  a  slow  process,  and  the — 
er — ahem — the  results  have  not  as  yet  begun  to 
materialize;  but  when  Opportunity  comes  my 
way,  sir—  Aha!  Ha,  ha!  Ho,  ho!  Well, 
then  we  shall  see  if  Tutwater  is  not  ready  for 
her!  " 

I  see,"  says  I.    "  You  with  your  hand  on 


. . 


250  ODD  NUMBERS 

the  knob,  eh?  It's  an  easy  way  of  passin'  the 
time  too ;  that  is,  providin '  such  things  as  visits 
from  the  landlord  and  the  towel  collector  don't 
worry  you. ' ' 

"  Not  at  all,"  says  he.  "  Merely  petty  an- 
noyances, thorns  and  pebbles  in  the  pathways 
that  lead  to  each  high  emprise." 

Say,  it  was  almost  like  hearin'  some  one  read 
po'try,  listenin'  to  Tutwater  talk;  didn't  mean 
much  of  anything,  and  sounded  kind  of  good. 
At  the  end  of  half  an  hour  I  didn't  know  any 
more  about  his  game  than  at  the  beginning.  I 
gathered,  though,  that  up  to  date  it  hadn't  pro- 
duced any  ready  cash,  and  that  Tutwater  had 
been  on  his  uppers  for  some  time. 

He  was  no  grafter,  though.  That  dollar 
twenty-five  weighed  heavier  on  his  mind  than 
it  did  on  mine.  He'd  come  in  and  talk  about  not 
bein'  able  to  pay  it  back  real  regretful,  without 
even  hintin'  aJt  another  touch.  And  little  by 
little  I  got  more  light  on  Tutwater,  includin' 
some  details  of  what  he  called  his  career. 

There  was  a  lot  to  it,  so  far  as  variety  went. 
He'd  been  a  hist'ry  professor  in  some  one-horse 
Western  college,  had  tried  his  luck  once  up  at 
Nome,  had  canvassed  for  a  patent  dishwasher 
through  Michigan,  done  a  ballyhoo  trick  outside 
a  travelin'  tent  show,  and  had  given  bump  lec- 
tures on  the  schoolhouse  circuit. 

But  his  prize  stunt  was  when  he  broke  into 


CLASSING  TUTWATEE  EIGHT     251 

the  real  estate  business  and  laid  out  Eucalyptus 
City.  That  was  out  in  Iowa  somewhere,  and 
he'd  have  cleaned  up  a  cool  million  in  money  if 
the  blamed  trolley  company  hadn't  built  their 
line  seven  miles  off  in  the  other  direction. 

It  was  gettin'  this  raw  deal  that  convinces  him 
the  seed  district  wa'n't  any  place  for  a  gent  of 
his  abilities.  So  he  sold  out  his  options  on  the 
site  of  Eucalyptus  to  a  brick  makin'  concern, 
and  beat  it  for  42d-st.  with  a  capital  of  eighty- 
nine  dollars  cash  and  this  great  director  scheme 
in  his  head.  The  brass  plate  had  cost  him  four 
dollars  and  fifty  cents,  one  month's  rent  of  the 
upstairs  coop  had  set  him  back  thirty  more,  and 
he'd  been  livin'  on  the  rest. 

"  But  look  here,  Tutty,"  says  I,  "  just 
what  sort  of  enterprise  do  you  think  you  can 
direct?  " 

"  Any  sort,"  says  he,  "  anything,  from  run- 
ning an  international  exposition,  to  putting  an 
icecream  parlor  on  a  paying  basis." 

"  Don't  you  find  your  modesty  something  of 
a  handicap?  "  says  I. 

"  Oh,  I'm  modest  enough,"  he  goes  on. 
"  For  instance,  I  don't  claim  to  invent  new 
methods.  I  just  adapt,  pick  out  lines  of  proved 
success,  and  develop.  Now,  your  business  here 
— why,  I  could  take  hold  of  it,  and  in  six  months' 
time  I'd  have  you  occupying  this  entire  build- 
ing, with  classes  on  every  floor,  a  solarium  on 


252  ODD  NUMBERS 

the  roof,  a  corps  of  assistants  working  day  and 
night  shifts,  and— 

"  Yes,"  I  breaks  in,  "  and  then  the  Sheriff 
tackin'  a  foreclosure  notice  on  the  front  door. 
I  know  how  them  boom  methods  work  out, 
Tutty." 

But  talk  like  that  don't  discourage  Tutwater 
at  all.  He  hangs  onto  his  great  scheme,  keepin' 
his  eyes  and  ears  open,  writin'  letters  when  he 
can  scare  up  money  for  postage,  and  insistin' 
that  sooner  or  later  he  '11  get  his  chance. 

"  Here  is  the  place  for  such  chances  to  oc- 
cur," says  he,  "  and  I  know  what  I  can  do." 

"  All  right,"  says  I;  "  but  if  I  was  you  I'd 
trail  down  some  pavin'  job  before  the  paper 
inner  soles  wore  clean  through. ' ' 

Course,  how  soon  he  hit  the  bread  line  wa'n't 
any  funeral  of  mine  exactly,  and  he  was  a  hope- 
less case  anyway;  but  somehow  I  got  to  likin' 
Tutwater  more  or  less,  and  wishin'  there  was 
some  plan  of  applyin'  all  that  hot  air  of  his  in 
useful  ways.  I  know  of  lots  of  stiffs  with  not 
half  his  brains  that  makes  enough  to  ride  around 
in  taxis  and  order  custom  made  shirts.  He  was 
gettin'  seedier  every  week,  though,  and  I  had 
it  straight  from  the  agent  that  it  was  only  a 
question  of  a  few  days  before  that  brass  plate 
would  have  to  come  down. 

And  then,  one  noon  as  we  was  chinnin'  here 
in  the  front  office,  in  blows  a  portly,  red  faced, 


CLASSING  TUTWATEB  RIGHT     253 

stary  eyed  old  party  who  seems  kind  of  dazed 
and  uncertain  as  to  where  he 's  goin '.  He  looks 
first  at  Tutwater,  and  then  at  me. 

"  Same  to  you  and  many  of  'em,"  says  I. 
"  What '11  it  be?  " 

"  McCabe  was  the  name,"  says  he;  "  Pro- 
fessor McCabe,  I  think.  I  had  it  written  down 
somewhere ;  but— 

"  Never  mind,"  says  I.  "  This  is  the  shop 
and  I'm  the  right  party.  What  then?  ' 

"  Perhaps  you  don't  know  me?  "  says  he,  ex- 
plorin'  his  vest  pockets  sort  of  aimless  with  his 
fingers. 

"  That's  another  good  guess,"  says  I;  "  but 
there's  lots  of  time  ahead  of  us." 

' '  I — I  am — well,  never  mind  the  name, ' '  says 
he,  brushin'  one  hand  over  his  eyes.  "  I — I've 
mislaid  it." 

"  Eh?  "  says  I. 

"  It 's  no  matter, ' '  says  he,  beginnin '  to  ram- 
ble on  again.  ' '  But  I  own  a  great  deal  of  prop- 
erty in  the  city,  and  my  head  has  been  troubling 
me  lately,  and  I  heard  you  could  help  me.  I'll 
pay  you  well,  you  know.  I — I'll  give  you  the 
Brooklyn  Bridge." 

"Wha-a-at's  that?"  I  gasps.  "  Say, 
couldn't  you  make  it  Madison  Square  Garden? 
I  could  get  rent  out  of  that. ' ' 

"  Well,  if  you  prefer,"  says  he,  without 
crackin'  a  smile. 


254  ODD  NUMBERS 

"  And  this  is  Mr.  Tutwater,"  says  I.  "  Ha 
ought  to  be  in  on  this.  What '11  yours  be, 
Tuttyl  " 

Say,  for  a  minute  or  so  I  couldn't  make  out 
whether  the  old  party  was  really  off  his  chump 
or  what.  He's  a  well  dressed,  prosperous  look- 
in'  gent,  a  good  deal  on  the  retired  broker  type, 
and  I  didn't  know  but  he  might  be  some  friend 
of  Pyramid  Gordon's  who'd  strayed  in  here  to 
hand  me  a  josh  before  signin'  on  for  a  course 
of  lessons. 

Next  thing  we  knew,  though,  he  slumps  down 
in  my  desk  chair,  leans  back  comf 'table,  sighs 
sort  of  contented,  smiles  a  batty,  foolish  smile 
at  us,  and  then  closes  his  eyes.  Another  second 
and  he's  snorin'  away  as  peaceful  as  you 
please. 

11  Well,  say!  "  says  I  to  Tutwater.  "  What 
do  you  think  of  that,  now!  Does  he  take  this 
for  a  free  lodgin'  house,  or  Central  Park? 
Looks  like  it  was  up  to  me  to  ring  for  the 
wagon. ' ' 

"  Don't,"  says  Tutwater.  "  The  police  han- 
dle these  cases  so  stupidly.  His  mind  has  been 
affected,  possibly  from  some  shock,  and  he  is 
physically  exhausted. ' ' 

"  He's  all  in,  sure  enough,"  says  I;  "  but  I 
can't  have  him  sawin'  wood  here.  Come,  come, 
old  scout,"  I  hollers  in  his  ear,  "  you'll  have  to 
camp  somewhere  else  for  this  act!  ''  I  might 


as  well  have  shouted  into  the  safe,  though.  He 
never  stirs. 

"  The  thing  to  do,"  says  Tutwater,  ''is  to 
discover  his  name,  if  we  can,  and  then  com- 
municate with  his  friends  or  family." 

"  Maybe  you're  right,  Tutwater,"  says  I. 
"  And  there's  a  bunch  of  letters  in  his  inside 
pocket.  Have  a  look." 

"  They  all  seem  to  be  addressed  to  J.  T. 
Fargo,  Esq.,"  says  Tutwater. 

"  What!  "  says  I.  "  Say,  you  don't  suppose 
our  sleepin'  friend  here  is  old  Jerry  Fargo, 
do  you?  Look  at  the  tailor's  label  inside  the 
pocket.  Eh?  Jeremiah  T.  Fargo!  Well,  say, 
Tutty,  that  wa'n't  such  an  idle  dream  of  his, 
about  givin'  me  the  garden.  Guess  he  could  if 
he  wanted  to.  Why,  this  old  party  owns  more 
business  blocks  in  this  town  than  anybody  I 
know  of  except  the  Astors.  And  I  was  for 
havin'  him  carted  off  to  the  station!  Lemme 
see  that  'phone  directory. ' ' 

A  minute  more  and  I  had  tlie  Fargo  house  on 
the  wire. 

"  Who  are  you?  "  says  I.  "  Oh,  Mr.  Fargo 's 
butler.  Well,  this  is  Shorty  McCabe,  and  I  want 
to  talk  to  some  of  the  fam'ly  about  the  old  man. 
Sure,  old  Jerry.  He's  here.  Eh,  his  sister? 
She'll  do.  Yes,  I'll  hold  the  wire." 

I'd  heard  of  that  old  maid  sister  of  his,  and 
how  she  was  a  queer  old  girl;  but  I  didn't  have 


256  ODD  NUMBEBS 

any  idea  what  a  cold  blooded  proposition  she 
was.  Honest,  she  seemed  put  out  and  pettish 
because  I'd  called  her  up. 

"  Jeremiah  again,  hey?  '  she  squeaks. 
11  Now,  why  on  earth  don't  he  stay  in  that  sana- 
torium where  I  took  him?  This  is  the  fourth 
time  he's  gone  wandering  off,  and  I've  been  sent 
for  to  hunt  him  up.  You  just  tell  him  to  trot 
back  to  it,  that's  all." 

"  But  see  here,  Miss  Fargo,"  says  I,  "  he's 
been  trottin'  around  until  you  can't  tell  him  any- 
thing! He's  snoozin'  away  here  in  my  office, 
dead  to  the  world. ' ' 

"  Well,  I  can't  help  it,"  says  she.  "I'm  not 
going  to  be  bothered  with  Jeremiah  to-day.  I've 
got  two  sick  cats  to  attend  to." 

"  Cats!  "  says  I.    "  Say,  what  do  you " 

11  Oh,  hush  up!  "  says  she.  "  Do  anything 
you  like  with  him!  "  And  hanged  if  she  don't 
bang  up  the  receiver  at  that,  and  leave  me 
standin'  there  at  my  end  of  the  wire  lookin' 
silly. 

"  Talk  about  your  freak  plutes,"  says  I  to 
Tutwater,  after  I've  explained  the  situation, 
"  if  this  ain't  the  limit !  Look  what  I've  got  on 
my  hands  now!  ' 

Tutwater,  he's  standin'  there  gazin'  hard  at 
old  Jerry  Fargo,  his  eyes  shinin'  and  his 
thought  works  goin'  at  high  pressure  speed. 
All  of  a  sudden  he  slaps  me  on  the  back  and 


CLASSING  TUTWATER  EIGHT     257 

grips  me  by  the  hand.  "  Professor,"  says  he, 
"  I  have  it!  There  is  Opportunity!  ' 

"  Eh?  "  says  I.    "  Old  Jerry?    How?  " 

"  I  shall  cure  him — restore  his  mind,  make 
him  normal,"  says  Tutwater. 

"  What  do  you  know  about  brushin'  out  batty 
lofts?  "  says  I. 

'  *  Nothing  at  all, ' '  says  he ;  ' '  but  I  can  find 
someone  who  does.  You'll  give  me  Fargo, 
won't  you?  " 

"  Will  I?  "  says  L  "I'll  advance  you  twenty 
to  take  him  away,  and  charge  it  up  to  him.  But 
what '11  you  do  with  him?  " 

"  Start  the  Tutwater  Sanatorium  for  De- 
ranged Millionaires,"  says  he.  "  There's  a  for- 
tune in  it.  May  I  leave  him  here  for  an  hour 
or  so?  " 

"  What  for?  "  says  I. 

' '  Until  I  can  engage  my  chief  of  staff, ' '  says 
he. 

"  Say,  Tutty,"  says  I,  "do  you  really  mean 
to  put  over  a  bluff  the  size  of  that?  ' 

"  I've  thought  it  all  out,"  says  he.  "I  can 
do  it." 

"  All  right,  blaze  ahead,"  says  I;  "  but  I'm 
bettin'  you  land  in  the  lockup  inside  of  twenty- 
four  hours." 

What  do  you  think,  though?  By  three  o'clock 
he  comes  back,  towin'  a  spruce,  keen  eyed 
young  chap  that  he  introduces  as  Dr.  McWade. 


258  ODD  NUMBERS 

He's  picked  him  up  over  at  Bellevue,  where  he 
found  him  doin'  practice  work  in  the  psycho- 
pathic ward.  On  the  strength  of  that  I  doubles 
my  grubstake,  and  he  no  sooner  gets  his  hands 
on  the  two  sawbucks  than  he  starts  for  the 
street. 

'  *  Here,  here !  ' '  says  I.  '  *  Where  you  headed 
for  now?  " 

And  Tutwater  explains  how  his  first  invest- 
ment is  to  be  a  new  silk  lid,  some  patent  leather 
shoes,  and  a  silver  headed  walkin'  stick. 

"  Good  business!  "  says  I.  "  You'll  need  all 
the  front  you  can  carry. ' ' 

And  while  he's  out  shoppin'  the  Doc  and  me 
and  Swifty  Joe  lugs  the  patient  up  to  Tutwa- 
ter's  office  without  disturb  in'  his  slumbers  at 
all. 

Well,  I  didn't  see  much  more  of  Tutwater  that 
day,  for  from  then  on  he  was  a  mighty  busy 
man;  but  as  I  was  drillin'  across  to  the  Grand 
Central  on  my  way  home  I  gets  a  glimpse  of 
him,  sportin'  a  shiny  hat  and  white  spats,  just 
rushin'  important  into  a  swell  real  estate  office. 
About  noon  next  day  he  stops  in  long  enough 
to  shake  hands  and  say  that  it's  all  settled. 

"  Tutwater  Sanatorium  is  a  fact,"  says  he. 
1 1  I  have  the  lease  in  my  pocket. ' ' 

"  What  is  it,  some  abandoned  farm  up  in 
Vermont  I  ' '  says  I. 

Hardly,"    says    Tutwater,    smilin'    quiet. 


1 t 


CLASSING  TUTWATER  EIGHT     259 

"  It's  Crags  woods;  beautiful  modern  buildings, 
formerly  occupied  as  a  boys'  boarding  school, 
fifteen  acres  of  lovely  grounds,  finest  location 
in  Westchester  County.  We  take  possession 
to-day,  with  our  patient." 

"  But,  say,  Tutwater,"  says  I,  "  how  in 
blazes  did  you 

"  I  produced  Fargo,"  says  he.  "  Dr.  Mc- 
Wade  has  him  under  complete  control  and  his 
cure  has  already  begun.  It  will  be  finished  at 
Cragswoods.  Run  up  and  see  us  soon.  There's 
the  address.  So  long." 

Well,  even  after  that,  I  couldn't  believe  he'd 
really  pull  it  off.  Course,  I  knew  he  could  make 
Fargo 's  name  go  a  long  ways  if  he  used  it  ju- 
dicious; but  to  launch  out  and  hire  an  estate 
worth  half  a  million — why  he  was  makin'  a  shoe- 
string start  look  like  a  sure  thing. 

And  I  was  still  listenin'  for  news  of  the  grand 
crash,  when  I  begun  seein'  these  items  in  the 
papers  about  the  Tutwater  Sanatorium.  *  *  Mil- 
lionaires Building  a  Stone  Wall,"  one  was 
headed,  and  it  went  on  to  tell  how  five  New  York 
plutes,  all  sufferin'  from  some  nerve  breakdown, 
was  gettin'  back  health  and  clearin'  up  their 
brains  by  workin'  like  day  laborers  under  the 
direction  of  the  famous  specialist,  Dr.  Clinton 
McWade. 

"  Aha!  "  says  I.  "  He's  added  a  press  agent 
to  the  staff,  and  he  sure  has  got  a  bird !  ' : 


260  ODD  NUMBERS 

Every  few  days  there's  a  new  story  bobs  up, 
better  than  the  last,  until  I  can't  stand  it  any 
longer.  I  takes  half  a  day  off  and  goes  up 
there  to  see  if  he's  actually  doin'  it.  And,  say, 
when  I  walks  into  the  main  office  over  the  Per- 
sian rug,  there's  the  same  old  Tutwater. 
Course,  he's  slicked  up  some  fancy,  and  he's 
smokin'  a  good  cigar;  but  you  couldn't  improve 
any  on  the  cheerful  countenance  he  used  to 
carry  around,  even  when  he  was  up  against  it 
hardest.  What  I  asks  to  see  first  is  the  five 
millionaires  at  work. 

"  Seven,  you  mean,"  says  Tutwater.  "  Two 
niore  came  yesterday.  Step  right  out  this  way. 
There  they  are,  seven;  count  'em,  seven.  The 
eighth  man  is  a  practical  stone  mason  who  is 
bossing  the  job.  It's  a  good  stone  wall  they're 
building,  too.  We  expect  to  run  it  along  our 
entire  frontage. ' ' 

"  Got  'em  mesmerized?  "  says  I. 

"  Not  at  all,"  says  Tutwater.  "It's  part  of 
the  treatment.  McWade's  idea,  you  know.  The 
vocational  cure,  we  call  it,  and  it  works  like  a 
charm.  Mr.  Fargo  is  practically  a  well  man 
now  and  could  return  to  his  home  next  week 
if  he  wished.  As  it  is,  he's  so  much  interested 
in  finishing  that  first  section  of  the  wall  that 
he  will  probably  stay  the  month  out.  You  can 
see  for  yourself  what  they  are  doing." 

"Well,   well!"   says   I.    "Seven   of    'em! 


CLASSING  TUTWATER  RIGHT     261 

What  I  don 't  understand,  Tutwater,  is  how  you 
got  so  many  patients  so  soon.  Where  M  you  get 
hold  of  'em?  " 

"  To  be  quite  frank  with  you,  McCabe, ' '  says 
Tutwater,  whisperin'  confidential  in  my  ear, 
"  only  three  of  them  are  genuine  paying  pa- 
tients. That  is  why  I  have  to  charge  them  fifty 
dollars  a  day,  you  see." 

"  And  the  others?  "  says  I. 

11  First  class  imitations,  who  are  playing 
their  parts  very  cleverly, "  says  he.  "  Why 
not?  I  engaged  them  through  a  reliable  the- 
atrical agency." 

"  Eh?  "  says  I.  "  You  salted  the  sanatori- 
um? Tutwater,  I  take  it  all  back.  You're  in 
the  other  class,  and  Fm  backin'  you  after  this 
for  whatever  entry  you  want  to  make." 


CHAPTER  XVII 

HOW   HERMY   PUT   IT   OVER 

WHAT  do  you  know  about  luck,  eh  I  Say,  there 
was  a  time  when  I  banked  heavy  on  such  things 
as  four-leaf  clovers,  and  the  humpback  touch, 
and  dodgin'  ladders,  and  keepin'  my  fingers 
crossed  after  gettin'  an  X-ray  stare.  The 
longer  I  watch  the  game,  though,  the  less  I  think 
of  the  luck  proposition  as  a  chart  for  explainin' 
why  some  gets  in  on  the  ground  floor,  while- 
others  are  dropped  through  the  coal  chute. 

Now  look  at  the  latest  returns  on  the  career  of 
my  old  grammar  school  chum,  Snick  Betters. 
Maybe  you  don't  remember  my  mentionin'  him 
before.  Yes?  No?  It  don't  matter.  He's  the 
sporty  young  gent  that's  mortgaged  his  mem- 
orial window  to  me  so  many  times, — you  know, 
the  phony  lamp  he  can  do  such  stunts  with. 

He's  a  smooth  boy,  Snick  is, — too  smooth,  I 
used  to  tell  him, — and  always  full  of  schemes  for 
avoidin'  real  work.  For  a  year  or  so  past  he's 
held  the  hot  air  chair  on  the  front  end  of  one 
of  these  sightseein'  chariots,  cheerin'  the  out  of 
town  buyers  and  wheat  belt  tourists  with  the 
flippest  line  of  skyscraper  statistics  handed  out 

262 


HOW  HEEMY  PUT  IT  OVER       263 

through  any  megaphone  in  town.  They  tell  me 
that  when  Snick  would  fix  his  fake  eye  on  the 
sidewalk,  and  roll  the  good  one  up  at  the  Metro- 
politan tower,  he'd  have  his  passengers  so  dizzy 
they'd  grab  one  another  to  keep  from  fallin' 
off  the  wagon. 

Yes,  I  always  did  find  Snick's  comp'ny  enter- 
tainin',  and  if  it  hadn't  been  more  or  less  ex- 
pensive,— a  visit  always  meanin'  a  touch  with 
him, — I  expect  I'd  been  better  posted  on  what 
he  was  up  to.  As  it  is,  I  ain't  enjoyed  the  lux- 
ury of  seem'  Snick  for  a  good  many  months; 
when  here  the  other  afternoon,  just  as  I  was 
thinking  of  startin'  for  home,  the  studio  door 
opens,  and  in  blows  a  couple  of  gents,,  one  being 
a  stranger,  and  the  other  this  Mr.  Butters. 

Now,  usually  Snick's  a  fancy  dresser,  no  mat- 
ter who  he  owes  for  it.  He'll  quit  eatin'  any 
time,  or  do  the  camel  act,  or  even  give  up  his 
cigarettes ;  but  if  the  gents'  furnishing  shops  are 
showin'  something  new  in  the  line  of  violet 
socks  or  alligator  skin  vests,  Snick's  got  to  sport 
the  first  ones  sprung  on  Broadway. 

So,  seein'  him  show  up  with  fringes  on  his 
cuffs,  a  pair  of  runover  tan  shoes,  and  wearin' 
his  uniform  cap  off  duty,  I  can't  help  feelin' 
some  shocked,  or  wonderin'  how  much  more'n 
a  five-spot  I'll  be  out  by  the  time  he  leaves.  It 
was  some  relief,  though,  to  see  that  the  glass 
eye  was  still  in  place,  and  know  I  wouldn't  be 


called  on  to  redeem  the  ticket  on  that,  any- 
way. 

"  Hello,  Snick!  "  says  I.  "  Glad  you  came 
in, — I  was  just  going.  Hope  you  don't  mind 
my  lockin'  the  safe?  No  offense,  you  know." 

"  Can  it,  Shorty,"  says  he.  "  There's  no 
brace  coming  this  time." 

"  Eh?  "  says  I.  "  Once  more  with  that  last, 
and  say  it  slower,  so  I  can  let  it  sink  in." 

"  Don't  kid,"  says  he.  "  This  is  straight 
business." 

"  Oh!  "  says  I.  "  Well,  that  does  sound  seri- 
ous. In  that  case,  who's  your — er Did  he 

come  in  with  you?  ' 

I  thought  he  did  at  first ;  but  he  seems  so  little 
int 'rested  in  either  Snick  or  me  that  I  wa'n't 
sure  but  he  just  wandered  in  because  he  saw 
the  door  open.  He's  a  high,  well  built,  fairly 
good  lookin'  chap,  dressed  neat  and  quiet  in 
black;  and  if  it  wa'n't  for  the  sort  of  aimless, 
wanderin'  look  in  his  eyes,  you  might  have  sus- 
pected he  was  somebody  in  partic'lar. 

"  Oh,  him!  "  says  Snick,  shootin'  a  careless 
glance  over  his  shoulder.  "  Yes,  of  course  he's 
with  me.  It's  him  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about." 

"  Well,"  says  I,  "  don't  he — er Is  it  a 

dummy,  or  a  live  one?  Got  a  name,  ain't  it?  ' 

"  Why,  sure!  "  says  Snick.  "  That's  Hermy. 
Hey  you,  Hermy,  shake  hands  with  Professor 
McCabe!  " 


HOW  I-IEEMY  PUT  IT  OVER       265 

"  Howdy,"  says  I,  makin'  ready  to  pass  the 
grip.  But  Hermy  ain't  in  a  sociable  mood,  it 
seems. 

"  Oh,  bother!  "  says  he,  lookin'  around  kind 
of  disgusted  and  not  noticin'  the  welcomin' 
hand  at  all.  "  I  don't  want  to  stay  here.  I 
ought  to  be  home,  dressing  for  dinner." 

And  say,  that  gives  you  about  as  much  idea 
of  the  way  he  said  it,  as  you'd  get  of  an  oil 
paintin'  from  seein'  a  blueprint.  I  can't  put  in 
the  pettish  shoulder  wiggle  that  goes  with  it,  or 
make  my  voice  behave  like  his  did.  It  was  the 
most  ladylike  voice  I  ever  heard  come  from  a 
heavyweight;  one  of  these  reg'lar  "  Oh-fudge- 
Lizzie-I-dropped-my-gum "  voices.  And  him 
with  a  chest  on  him  like  a  swell  front  mahog'ny 
bureau ! 

' '  Splash !  ' '  says  I.  ' '  You  mean,  mean  thing ! 
So  there!  " 

"  Don't  mind  what  he  says  at  all,  Shorty," 
says  Snick.  "  You  wait!  I'll  fix  him!  "  and 
with  that  he  walks  up  to  Hermy,  shakes  his 
finger  under  his  nose,  and  proceeds  to  lay  him 
out.  "  Now  what  did  I  tell  you;  eh,  Hermy?  ' 
says  Snick.  "  One  lump  of  sugar  in  your  tea 
—no  pie — and  locked  in  your  room  at  eight- 
thirty.  Oh,  I  mean  it!  You're  here  to  behave 
yourself.  Understand?  Take  your  fingers  off 
that  necktie!  Don't  slouch  against  the  wall 
there,  either !  You  might  get  your  coat  dusty. 


266  ODD  NUMBERS 

Dress  for  dinner !  Didn't  I  wait  fifteen  minutes 
while  you  fussed  with  your  hair!  And  do  you 
think  you're  going  to  go  through  all  that  again? 
You're  dressed  for  dinner,  I  tell  you!  But  you 
don't  get  a  bit  unless  you  do  as  you're  told! 
Hear?  " 

"  Ye-e-es,  sir,"  sniffles  Hermy. 

Honest,  it  was  a  little  the  oddest  exhibition 
I  ever  saw.  Why,  he  would  make  two  of  Snick, 
this  Hermy  would,  and  he  has  a  pair  of  shoul- 
ders like  a  truck  horse.  Don't  ever  talk  to  me 
about  chins  again,  either!  Hermy  has  chin 
enough  for  a  trust  buster;  but  that's  all  the 
good  it  .seems  to  do  him. 

"  You  ain't  cast  the  hypnotic  spell  over  him, 
have  you,  Snick!  "  says  I. 

"  Hypnotic  nothing!  "  says  Snick.  "  That 
ain't  a  man ;  it's  only  a  music  box !  ' 

"  A  which?  "  says  I. 

* '  Barytone, ' ' .  says  Snick.  ' '  Say,  did  you 
ever  hear  Bonci  or  Caruso  or  any  of  that  mob 
warble?  No?  Well,  then  I'll  have  to  tell  you. 
Look  at  Hermy  there.  Take  a  good  long  gaze 
at  him.  And — sh-h-h!  After  he's  had  one  show 
at  the  Metropolitan  he'll  have  that  whole  bunch 
carryin'  spears." 

11  Is  this  something  you  dreamed,  Snick," 
says  I,  "  or  is  it  a  sample  of  your  megaphone 
talk?  " 

"  You  don't  believe  it,  of  course,"  says  he. 


HOW  HEKMY  PUT  IT  OVER       267 

"  That's  what  I  brought  him  up  here  for. 
Hermy,  turn  on  the  Toreador  business!  ': 

"  Eh?  "  says  I;  then  I  sees  Hermy  gettin' 
into  position  to  cut  loose.  "  Back  up  there! 
Shut  it  off !  What  do  I  know  about  judgin'  sing- 
ers on  the  hoof?  Why,  he  might  be  all  you  say, 
or  as  bad  as  I'd  be  willin'  to  bet;  but  I  wouldn't 
know  it.  And  what  odds  does  it  make  to  me, 
one  way  or  another?  ' 

11  I  know,  Shorty,"  says  Snick,  earnest  and 
pleadin';  "  but  you're  my  last  hope.  I've  sim- 
ply got  to  convince  you. ' ' 

"  Sorry,  Snick/'  says  I;  "  but  this  ain't  my 
day  for  tryin'  out  barytones.  Besides,  I  got  to 
catch  a  train. ' ' 

"  All  right,"  says  Snick.  "  Then  we'll  trot 
along  with  you  while  I  tell  you  about  Hermy. 
Honest,  Shorty,  you've  got  to  hear  it!  ' 

"  If  it's  as  desperate  as  all  that,"  says  I, 
"  spiel  away." 

And  of  all  the  plunges  I  ever  knew  Snick  But- 
ters to  make, — and  he  sure  is  the  dead  gamest 
sport  I  ever  ran  across, — this  one  that  he  owns 
up  to  takin'  on  Hermy  had  all  his  past  perform- 
ances put  in  the  piker  class. 

Accordin'  to  the  way  he  deals  it  out,  Snick 
had  first  discovered  Hermy  about  a  year  ago, 
found  him  doin'  the  tray  balancin'  act  in  a 
porcelain  lined  three-off-and-draw-one  parlor 
down  on  Seventh-ave.  He  was  doin'  it  bad,  too, 


268  ODD  NUMBERS 

— gettin'  the  orders  mixed,  and  spillin'  soup  on 
the  customers,  and  passin'  out  wrong  checks, 
and  havin'  the  boss  worked  up  to  the  assassina- 
tion point. 

But  Hermy  didn't  even  know  enough  to  be 
discouraged.  He  kept  right  on  singsongin'  out 
his  orders  down  the  shaft,  as  cheerful  as  you 
please :  ' '  Sausage  and  mashed,  two  on  the 
wheats,  one  piece  of  punk,  and  two  mince,  and 
let  'em  come  in  a  hurry !  Silver !  ' :  You  know 
how  they  do  it  in  them  C.  B.  &  Q.  places  ?  Yes, 
corned  beef  and  cabbage  joints.  With  sixty  or 
seventy  people  in  a  forty  by  twenty-five  room, 
and  the  dish  washers  slam m in '  crockery  regard- 
less, you  got  to  holler  out  if  you  want  the  chef 
to  hear.  Hermy  wa'n't  much  on  the  shout,  so 
he  sang  his  orders.  And  it  was  this  that  gave 
Snick  his  pipedream. 

"  Now  you  know  I've  done  more  or  less  tra- 
la-la-work  myself,"  says  he,  "  and  the  season 
I  spent  on  the  road  as  one  of  the  merry  villagers 
with  an  Erminie  outfit  put  me  wise  to  a  few 
things.  Course,  this  open  air  lecturing  has 
spoiled  my  pipes  for  fair;  but  I've  got  my  ear 
left,  haven't  I?  And  say,  Shorty,  the  minute 
I  heard  that  voice  of  Hermy 's  I  knew  he  was 
the  goods." 

So  what  does  he  do  but  go  back  later,  after 
the  noon  rush  was  over,  and  get  Hermy  to  tell 
him  the  story  of  his  life.  It  wa'n't  what  you'd 


HOW  HEBMY  PUT  IT  OVER       269 

call  tlirillin'.  All  there  was  to  it  was  that 
Hermy  was  a  double  orphan  who'd  been  brought 
up  in  Bridgeport,  Conn.,  by  an  uncle  who  was  a 
dancin'  professor.  The  only  thing  that  saved 
Hermy  from  a  bench  in  the  brass  works  was  his 
knack  for  poundin'  out  twosteps  and  waltzes  on 
the  piano;  but  at  that  it  seems  he  was  such 
a  soft  head  he  couldn't  keep  from  watchin'  the 
girls  on  the  floor  and  striking  wrong  notes. 
Then  there  was  trouble  with  uncle.  Snick  didn  't 
get  the  full  details  of  the  row,  or  what  brought 
it  to  a  head ;  but  anyway  Hermy  was  fired  from 
the  academy  and  fin'lly  drifted  to  New  York, 
where  he'd  been  close  up  against  the  bread  line 
ever  since. 

* '  And  when  I  found  how  he  just  naturally  ate 
up  music,"  says  Snick,  "  and  how  he'd  had 
some  training  in  a  boy  choir,  and  what  a  range 
he  had,  I  says  to  him,  *  Hermy,'  says  I,  l  you 
come  with  me !  '  First  I  blows  in  ten  good  hard 
dollars  getting  a  lawyer  to  draw  up  a  contract. 
I  thought  it  all  out  by  myself ;  but  I  wanted  the 
whereases  put  in  right.  And  it's  a  peach.  It 
bound  me  to  find  board  and  lodging  and  provide 
clothes  and  incidentals  for  Hermy  for  the  period 
of  one  year ;  and  in  consideration  of  which,  and 
all  that,  I  am  to  be  the  manager  and  sole  busi- 
ness representative  of  said  Hermy  for  the  term 
of  fifteen  years  from  date,  entitled  to  a  fair 
and  equal  division  of  whatsoever  profits,  salary, 


270  ODD  NUMBERS 

or  emoluments  which  may  be  received  by  the 
party  of  the  second  part,  payable  to  me,  my 
heirs,  or  assigns  forever.  And  there  I  am, 
Shorty.  I've  done  it!  And  I'm  going  to  stay 
with  it!  " 

"  What!  "  says  I.  "  You  don't  mean  to  say 
you've  invested  a  year's  board  and  lodgin'  and 
expenses  in — in  that?  "  and  I  gazes  once  more 
at  this  hundred  and  eighty-pound  wrist  slapper, 
who  is  standin'  there  in  front  of  the  mirror 
pattin'  down  a  stray  lock. 

"  That's  what  I've  done,"  says  Snick,  shovin' 
his  hands  in  his  pockets  and  lookin'  at  the  ex- 
hibit like  he  was  proud  of  it. 

"  But  how  the — where  in  blazes  did  you  get 
it?  "  says  I. 

"  Squeezed  it  out,"  says  Snick;  "  out  of  my- 
self, too.  And  you  know  me.  I  always  was  as 
good  to  myself  as  other  folks  would  let  me.  But 
all  that  had  tp  be  changed.  It  come  hard,  I 
admit,  and  it  cost  more'n  I  figured  on.  Why, 
some  of  his  voice  culture  lessons  set  me  back 
ten  a  throw.  Think  of  that!  He's  had  'em, 
though.  And  me?  Well,  I've  lived  on  one  meal 
a  day.  I've  done  a  double  trick:  on  the  wagon 
day  times,  night  cashier  in  a  drug  store  from 
nine  till  two  A.M.  I've  cut  out  theaters,  ciga- 
rettes, and  drinks.  I've  made  my  old  clothes 
last  over,  and  I've  pinched  the  dimes  and  nickels 
so  hard  my  thumbprints  would  look  like  treas- 


HOW  HEEMY  PUT  IT  OVER       271 

ury  dies.  But  we've  got  the  goods,  Shorty. 
Hermy  may  be  the  mushiest,  sappiest,  hen 
brained  specimen  of  a  man  you  ever  saw;  but 
when  it  comes  to  being  a  high  class  grand  opera 
barytone,  he's  the  kid !  And  little  Percival  here 
is  his  manager  and  has  the  power  of  attorney 
that  will  fix  him  for  keeps  if  I  know  anything !  ' ' 

"  Ye-e-es?  "  says  I.  "  Reminds  me  some  of 
the  time  when  you  was  backin'  Doughnut  to 
win  the  Suburban.  Recollect  how  hard  you 
scraped  to  get  the  two-fifty  you  put  down  on 
Doughnut  at  thirty  to  one,  and  how  hard  you 
begged  me  to  jump  in  and  pull  out  a  bale  of 
easy  money?  Let's  see;  did  the  skate  finish 
tenth,  or  did  he  fall  through  the  hole  in  his 
name?  " 

"  All,  say!  "  says  Snick.  "  Don't  go  digging 
that  up  now.  That  was  sport.  This  is  straight 
business,  on  the  level,  and  I  ain't  asking  you 
to  put  up  a  cent." 

"  Well,  what  then?  "  says  I. 

Would  you  guess  it?  He  wants  me  to  book 
Hermy  for  a  private  exhibition  before  some  of 
my  swell  friends!  All  I've  got  to  do  is  to  per- 
suade some  of  'em  to  give  a  little  musicale,  and 
then  spring  this  nutmeg  wonder  on  the  box 
holdin'  set  without  warnin'. 

"  If  he  was  a  Russki  with  long  hair,"  says  I, 
"  or  even  a  fiddlin'  Czech,  they  might  stand  for 
it;  but  to  ask  'em  to  listen  to  a  domestic  un- 


272  ODD  NUMBERS 

known  from  Bridgeport,  Conn. I  wouldn't 

have  the  nerve,  Snick.  Why  not  take  him 
around  to  the  concert  agencies  first?  " 

11  Bah!  "  says  Snick.  "  Haven't  we  worn  out 
the  settees  in  the  agency  offices  1  What  do  they 
know  about  good  barytone  voices?  All  they 
judge  by  is  press  clippings  and  lists  of  past  en- 
gagements. Now,  your  people  would  know. 
He'd  have  'em  going  in  two  minutes,  and  they'd 
spread  the  news  afterwards.  Then  we'd  have 
the  agents  coming  to  us.  See  ?  ' 

Course  I  couldn't  help  gettin'  int 'rested  in 
this  long  shot  of  Snick's,  even  if  I  don't  take 
any  stock  in  his  judgment ;  but  I  tries  to  explain 
that  while  I  mix  more  or  less  with  classy  folks, 
I  don't  exactly  keep  their  datebooks  for  'em,  or 
provide  talent  for  their  after  dinner  stunts. 

That  don't  head  off  Snick,  though.  He  says 
I'm  the  only  link  between  him  and  the  set  he 
wants  to  reach,  and  he  just  can't  take  no  for  an 
answer.  He  says  he'll  depend  on  me  for  a  date 
for  next  Wednesday  night. 

"Why  Wednesday?"  says  I.  "Wouldn't 
Thursday  or  Friday  do  as  well?  ' 

"  No,"  says  he.  "  That's  Frenchy's  only 
night  off  from  the  cafe,  and  it's  his  dress  suit 
Hermy's  got  to  wear.  It'll  be  some  tight  across 
the  back;  but  it's  the  biggest  one  I  can  get  the 
loan  of  without  paying  rent." 

Well,  I  tells  Snick  I'll  see  what  can  be  done, 


HOW  HEEMY  PUT  IT  OVER       273 

and  when  I  gets  home  I  puts  the  problem  up 
to  Sadie.  Maybe  if  she'd  had  a  look  at  Hermy 
she'd  taken  more  interest;  but  as  it  is  she  says 
she  don't  see  how  I  can  afford  to  run  the 
chances  of  handin'  out  a  lemon,  even  if  there 
was  an  op'nin'.  Then  again,  so  many  of  our 
friends  were  at  Palm  Beach  just  now,  and  those 
who'd  come  back  were  so  busy  givin'  Lent 
bridge  parties,  that  the  chances  of  workin'  in 
a  dark  horse  barytone  was  mighty  slim.  She'd 
think  it  over,  though,  and  see  if  maybe  some- 
thing can't  be  done. 

So  that's  the  best  I  can  give  Snick  when  he 
shows  up  in  the  mornin',  and  it  was  the  same 
every  day  that  week.  I  was  kind  of  sorry  for 
Snick,  and  was  almost  on  the  point  of  luggin' 
him  and  his  discovery  out  to  the  house  and 
askin'  in  a  few  of  the  neighbors,  when  Sadie 
tells  me  that  the  Purdy-Pells  are  back  from 
Florida  and  are  goin'  to  open  their  town  house 
with  some  kind  of  happy  jinks  Wednesday  night, 
and  that  we're  invited. 

Course,  that  knocks  out  my  scheme.  I'd 
passed  the  sad  news  on  to  Snick;  and  it  was 
near  noon  Wednesday,  when  I'm  called  up  on 
the  'phone  by  Sadie.  Seems  that  Mrs.  Purdy- 
Pell  had  signed  a  lady  harpist  and  a  refined 
monologue  artist  to  fill  in  the  gap  between  coffee 
and  bridge,  and  the  lady  harper  had  scratched 
her  entry  on  account  of  a  bad  case  of  grip.  So 


274  ODD  NUMBERS 

couldn't  I  find  my  friend  Mr.  Butters  and  get 
Mm  to  produce  his  singer!  The  case  had  been 
stated  to  Mrs.  Purdy-Pell,  and  she  was  willin' 
to  take  the  risk. 

"  All  right,"  says  I.  "  But  it's  all  up  to  her, 
don't  you  forget." 

With  that  I  chases  down  to  Madison  Square, 
catches  Snick  just  startin'  out  with  a  load  of 
neck  stretchers,  gives  him  the  number,  and  tells 
him  to  show  up  prompt  at  nine-thirty.  And  I 
wish  you  could  have  seeen  the  joy  that  spread 
over  his  homely  face.  Even  the  store  eye 
seemed  to  be  sparklin'  brighter 'n  ever. 

Was  he  there?  Why,  as  we  goes  in  to  dinner 
at  eight  o'clock,  I  catches  sight  of  him  and 
Hermy  holdin'  down  chairs  in  the  reception 
room.  Well,  you  know  how  they  pull  off  them 
affairs.  After  they've  stowed  away  about  elev- 
enteen  courses,  from  grapefruit  and  sherry  to 
demitasse  and  benedictine,  them  that  can  leave 
the  table  without  wheel  chairs  wanders  out 
into  the  front  rooms,  and  the  men  light  up  fresh 
perfectos  and  hunt  for  the  smokin'  den,  and 
the  women  get  together  in  bunches  and  exchange 
polite  knocks.  And  in  the  midst  of  all  that  some 
one  drifts  casually  up  to  the  concert  grand  and 
cuts  loose.  That  was  about  the  programme  in 
this  case. 

Hermy  was  all  primed  for  his  cue,  and  when 
Mrs.  Purdy-Pell  gives  the  nod  I  sees  Snick  push 


HOW  HERMY  PUT  IT  OVER       275 

him  through  the  door,  and  in  another  minute 
the  thing  is  on.  The  waiter's  uniform  was  a 
tight  fit,  all  right;  for  it  stretches  across  his 
shoulders  like  a  drumhead.  And  the  shirt  studs 
wa'n't  mates,  and  the  collar  was  one  of  them 
saw  edged  laundry  veterans.  But  the  general 
effect  was  good,  and  Hermy  don't  seem  to  mind 
them  trifles  at  all.  He  stands  up  there  lookin' 
big  and  handsome,  simpers  and  smiles  around 
the  room  a  few  times,  giggles  a  few  at  the  young 
lady  who'd  volunteered  to  do  the  ivory  punish- 
ing, and  then  fin'lly  he  gets  under  way  with  the 
Toreador  song. 

As  I  say,  when  it  comes  to  gems  from  Car- 
men, I'm  no  judge;  but  this  stab  of  Hermy 's 
strikes  me  from  the  start  as  a  mighty  good  at- 
tempt. He  makes  a  smooth,  easy  get-away,  and 
he  strikes  a  swingin',  steady  gait  at  the  quarter, 
and  when  he  comes  to  puttin'  over  the  deep, 
rollin'  chest  notes  I  has  feelin's  down  under 
the  first  dinner  layer  like  I'd  swallowed  a  small 
thunder  storm.  Honest,  when  he  fairly  got 
down  to  business  and  hittin'  it  up  in  earnest,  he 
had  me  on  my  toes,  and  by  the  look  on  Sadie's 
face  I  knew  that  our  friend  Hermy  was  going 
some. 

But  was  all  the  others  standin'  around  with 
their  mouths  open,  drinkin'  it  in?  Anything 
but!  You  see,  some  late  comers  had  arrived, 
and  they'd  brought  bulletins  of  something  rich 


276  ODD  NUMBERS 

and  juicy  that  had  just  happened  in  the  alimony 
crowd, — I  expect  the  event  will  figure  on  the 
court  calendars  later, — and  they're  so  busy  pass- 
in'  on  the  details  to  willin'  ears,  that  Hermy 
wa'n't  disturbin'  'em  at  all.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  not  one  in  ten  of  the  bunch  knew  whether 
he  was  makin'  a  noise  like  a  bullfighter  or  a 
line-up  man. 

I  can't  help  takin'  a  squint  around  at  Snick, 
who's  peekin'  in  through  the  draperies.  And 
say,  he's  all  but  tearin'  his  hair.  It  was  tough, 
when  you  come  to  think  of  it.  Here  he'd  put 
his  whole  stack  of  blues  on  this  performance, 
and  the  audience  wa'n't  payin'  any  more  atten- 
tion to  it  than  to  the  rattle  of  cabs  on  the 
avenue. 

Hermy  has  most  got  to  the  final  spasm,  and 
it's  about  all  over,  wiien,  as  a  last  straw,  some 
sort  of  disturbance  breaks  out  in  the  front  hall. 
First  off  I  thought  it  must  be  Snick  Butters 
throwin'  a  fit;  but  then  I  hears  a  voice  that  ain't 
his,  and  as  I  glances  out  I  sees  the  Purdy-Pell 
butler  havin'  a  rough  house  argument  with  a 
black  whiskered  gent  in  evenin'  clothes  and  a 
Paris  model  silk  lid.  Course,  everyone  hears 
the  rumpus,  and  there's  a  grand  rush,  some  to 
get  away,  and  others  to  see  what's  doin'. 

"  Let  me  in!  I  demand  entrance!  It  must 
be!  "  howls  the  gent,  while  the  butler  tries  to 
tell  him  he's  got  to  give  up  his  card  first. 


HOW  HEEMY  PUT  IT  OVEE       277 

And  next  thing  I  know  Snick  has  lit  on  the 
butler's  back  to  pull  him  off,  and  the  three  are 
havin '  a  fine  mix-up,  when  Mr.  Purdy-Pell  comes 
boltin'  out,  and  I've  just  offered  to  bounce  any 
of  'em  that  he'll  point  out,  when  all  of  a  sudden 
he  recognizes  the  party  behind  the  brunette  lam- 
brequins. 

"  Why — why,"  says  he,  "  what  does  this 
mean,  Mr. " 

"  Pardon,"  says  the  gent,  puffin'  and  pushin' 
to  the  front.  "  I  intrude,  yes?  A  thousand 
pardons.  But  I  will  explain.  Next  door  I  am 
dining — there  is  a  window  open — I  hear  that 
wonderful  voice.  Ah!  that  marvelous  voice! 
Of  what  is  the  name  of  this  artist?  Yes?  I 
demand!  I  implore!  Ah,  I  must  know  in- 
stantly, sir!  ' 

Well,  you  know  who  it  was.  There's  only  one 
grand  opera  Napoleon  with  black  whiskers  who 
does  things  in  that  way,  and  makes  good  every 
trip.  It's  him,  all  right.  And  if  he  don't  know 
a  barytone  voice,  who  does? 

Inside  of  four  minutes  him  and  Hermy  and 
Snick  was  bunched  around  the  libr  'y  table,  chew- 
in'  over  the  terms  of  the  contract,  and  next 
season  you'll  read  the  name  of  a  new  soloist  in 
letters  four  foot  high. 

Say,  I  was  up  to  see  Mr.  Butters  in  his  new 
suite  of  rooms  at  the  St.  Swithin,  where  it  never 
rains  but  it  pours.  He'd  held  out  for  a  big  ad- 


278  ODD  NUMBERS 

vance,  and  he'd  got  it.  Also  he'd  invested  part 
of  it  in  some  of  the  giddiest  raiment  them  the- 
atrical clothing  houses  can  supply.  While  a 
manicure  was  busy  puttin'  a  gloss  finish  on  his 
nails,  he  has  his  Mongolian  valet  display  the 
rest  of  his  wardrobe,  as  far  as  he'd  laid  it  in. 

1 '  Did  I  get  let  in  wrong  on  the  Hermy  propo- 
sition, eh?  "  says  he.  "  How  about  stayin'  with 
your  luck  till  it  turns?  Any  reminder  of  the 
Doughnut  incident  in  this?  What?  " 

Do  I  debate  the  subject?  Not  me!  I  just 
slaps  Snick  on  the  back  and  wishes  him  joy. 
If  he  wants  to  credit  it  all  up  to  a  rabbit's  foot, 
or  a  clover  leaf,  I'm  willin'  to  let  him.  But 
say,  from  where  I  stand,  it  looks  to  me  as  if 
nerve  and  grit  played  some  part  in  it. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

JOY   RIDING   WITH   AUNTY 

WAS  I?  Then  I  must  have  been  thinking  of 
Dyke  Mallory.  And  say,  I  don 't  know  how  you 
feel  about  it,  but  I  figure  that  anybody  who  can 
supply  me  with  a  hang-over  grin  good  for  three 
days  ain't  lived  in  vain.  Whatever  it's  worth, 
I'm  on  his  books  for  just  that  much. 

I'll  admit,  too,  that  this  Dyckman  chap  ain't 
apt  to  get  many  credits  by  the  sweat  of  his 
brow  or  the  fag  of  his  brain.  There's  plenty 
of  folks  would  class  him  as  so  much  plain  nui- 
sance, and  I  have  it  from  him  that  his  own 
fam'ly  puts  it  even  stronger.  That's  one  of  his 
specialties,  confidin'  to  strangers  how  unpop'lar 
he  is  at  home.  Why,  he  hadn't  been  to  the 
studio  more'n  twice,  and  I'd  just  got  next  to  the 
fact  that  he  was  a  son  of  Mr.  Craig  Mallory, 
and  was  suggestin'  a  quarterly  account  for 
him,  when  he  gives  me  the  warnin'  signal. 

"  Don't!  "  says  he.  "  I  draw  my  allowance 
the  fifteenth,  and  unless  you  get  it  away  from 
me  before  the  twentieth  you  might  as  well  tear 
up  the  bill.  No  use  sending  it  to  the  pater, 
either.  He  'd  renig. ' ' 

279 


280  ODD  NUMBERS 

' '  Handing  you  a  few  practical  hints  along  the 
economy  line,  eh?  "  says  I. 

"  Worse  than  that,"  says  Dyke.  "It's  a 
part  of  my  penance  for  being  the  Great  Disap- 
pointment. The  whole  family  is  down  on  me. 
Guess  you  don't  know  about  my  Aunt  Elvira"?  " 

I  didn  't,  and  there  was  no  special  reason  why 
I  should;  but  before  I  can  throw  the  switch 
Dyke  has  got  the  deputy  sheriff  grip  on  the 
Mallorys '  private  skeleton  and  is  holdin '  him  up 
and  explainin'  his  anatomy. 

Now,  from  all  I'd  ever  seen  or  heard,  I'd 
always  supposed  Mr.  Craig  Mallory  to  be  one 
of  the  safety  vault  crowd.  Course,  they  live 
at  Number  4  West;  but  that's  near  enough  to 
the  avenue  for  one  of  the  old  f  am 'lies.  And 
when  you  find  a  man  who  puts  in  his  time  as 
chairman  of  regatta  committees,  and  judgin' 
hackneys,  and  actin'  as  vice  president  of  a  swell 
club,  you're  apt  to  rate  him  in  the  seven  figure 
bunch,  at  least.  Accordin'  to  Duke,  though,  the 
Mallory  income  needed  as  much  stretchin'  as 
the  pay  of  a  twenty-dollar  clothing  clerk  tryin' 
to  live  in  a  thirty-five  dollar  flat.  And  this  is 
the  burg  where  you  can  be  as  hard  up  on  fifty 
thousand  a  year  as  on  five  hundred ! 

The  one  thing  the  Mallorys  had  to  look  for- 
ward to  was  the  time  when  Aunt  Elvira  would 
trade  her  sealskin  sack  for  a  robe  of  glory  and 
loosen  up  on  her  real  estate.  She  was  near 


JOY  BIDING  WITH  AUNTY        281 

seventy,  Aunty  was,  and  when  she  first  went 
out  to  live  at  the  old  country  place,  up  beyond 
Fort  George,  it  was  a  good  half-day's  trip  down 
to  23d-st.  But  she  went  right  on  livin',  and 
New  York  kept  right  on  growin',  and  now  she 
owns  a  cow  pasture  two  blocks  from  a  subway 
station,  and  raises  potatoes  on  land  worth  a 
thousand  dollars  a  front  foot. 

Bein'  of  different  tastes  and  habits,  her  and 
Brother  Craig  never  got  along  together  very 
well,  and  there  was  years  when  each  of  'em  tried 
to  forget  that  the  other  existed.  When  little 
Dyckman  came,  though,  the  frost  was  melted. 
She  hadn't  paid  any  attention  to  the  girls;  but 
a  boy  was  diff'rent.  Never  havin'  had  a  son 
of  her  own  to  boss  around  and  brag  about,  she 
took  it  out  on  Dyke.  A  nice,  pious  old  lady, 
Aunt  Elvira  was ;  and  the  mere  fact  that  little 
Dyke  seemed  to  fancy  the  taste  of  a  morocco 
covered  New  Testament  she  presented  to  him 
on  his  third  birthday  settled  his  future  in  her 
mind. 

"  He  shall  be  a  Bishop!  "  says  she,  and  hints 
that  accordin'  as  Dyckman  shows  progress 
along  that  line  she  intends  loadin'  him  up  with 
worldly  goods. 

Up  to  the  age  of  fifteen,  Dyke  gives  a  fair 
imitation  of  a  Bishop  in  the  bud.  He's  a  light 
haired,  pleasant  spoken  youth,  who  stands  well 
with  his  Sunday  school  teacher  and  repeats  pas- 


282  ODD  NUMBERS 

sages  from  the  Psalms  for  Aunt  Elvira  when 
she  comes  down  to  inflict  her  annual  visit. 

But  from  then  on  the  bulletins  wa'n't  so  fa- 
vor'ble.  At  the  cliff 'rent  ;>rep.  schools  where 
he  was  tried  out  he  appeared  to  be  too  much 
of  a  live  one  to  make  much  headway  with  the 
dead  languages.  About  the  only  subjects  he  led 
his  class  in  was  hazing  and  football  and  buildin' 
bonfires  of  the  school  furniture.  Being  expelled 
got  to  be  so  common  with  him  that  towards  the 
last  he  didn't  stop  to  unpack  his  trunk. 

Not  that  these  harrowin'  details  was  passed 
on  to  Aunt  Elvira.  The  Mallorys  begun  by 
doctorin'  the  returns,  and  they  developed  into 
reg'lar  experts  at  the  game  of  representin'  to 
Aunty  what  a  sainted  little  fellow  Dyke  was 
growin'  to  be.  The  more  practice  they  got,  the 
harder  their  imaginations  was  worked;  for  by 
the  time  Dyckman  was  strugglin'  through  his 
last  year  at  college  he'd  got  to  be  such  a  full 
blown  hickey  boy  that  he'd  have  been  spotted 
for  a  sport  in  a  blind  asylum. 

So  they  had  to  invent  one  excuse  after  an- 
other to  keep  Aunt  Elvira  from  seein'  him,  all 
the  while  givin'  her  tales  about  how  he  was  soon 
to  break  into  the  divinity  school;  hoping,  of 
course,  that  Aunty  would  get  tired  of  waitin' 
and  begin  to  unbelt. 

"  They  overdid  it,  that's  all,"  says  Dyke. 
"  Healthy  looking  Bishop  I'd  make!  What?  " 


JOY  BIDING  WITH  AUNTY        283 

"  You  ain't  got  just  the  style  for  a  right 
reverend,  that's  a  fact,"  says  I. 

Which  wa'n't  any  wild  statement  of  the  case, 
either.  He's  a  tall,  loose  jointed,  slope  shoul- 
dered young  gent,  with  a  long,  narrow  face,  gen- 
'rally  ornamented  by  a  cigarette ;  and  he  has  his 
straw  colored  hair  cut  plush.  His  costume  is 
neat  but  expensive, — double  reefed  trousers, 
wide  soled  shoes,  and  a  green  yodler's  hat  with 
the  bow  on  behind.  He  talks  with  the  kind  of 
English  accent  they  pick  up  at  New  Haven,  and 
when  he's  in  repose  he  tries  to  let  on  he's  so 
bored  with  life  that  he's  in  danger  of  fallin' 
asleep  any  minute. 

Judgin'  from  Dyke's  past  performances, 
though,  there  wa'n't  many  somnolent  hours  in 
it.  But  in  spite  of  all  the  trouble  he  'd  got  into, 
I  couldn't  figure  him  out  as  anything  more'n 
playful.  Course,  rough  housin'  in  rathskellers 
until  they  called  out  the  reserves,  and  turnin' 
the  fire  hose  on  a  vaudeville  artist  from  a  box, 
and  runnin'  wild  with  a  captured  trolley  car 
wa'n't  what  you  might  call  innocent  boyishness; 
but,  after  all,  there  wa'n't  anything  real  vicious 
about  Dyke. 

Playful  states  it.  Give  him  a  high  powered 
tourin'  car,  with  a  bunch  of  eight  or  nine  from 
the  football  squad  aboard,  and  he  liked  to  tear 
around  the  State  of  Connecticut  burnin'  the 
midnight  gasolene  and  lullin'  the  villagers  to 


284  ODD  NUMBERS 

sleep  with  the  Boula-Boula  song.  Perfectly 
harmless  fun — if  the  highways  was  kept  clear. 
All  the  frat  crowd  said  he  was  a  good  fellow, 
and  it  was  a  shame  to  bar  him  out  from  takin' 
a  degree  just  on  account  of  his  layin'  down  on 
a  few  exams.  But  that's  what  the  faculty  did, 
and  the  folks  at  home  was  wild. 

Dyke  had  been  back  and  on  the  unclassified 
list  for  nearly  a  year  now,  and  the  prospects 
of  his  breakin'  into  the  divinity  school  was 
growin'  worse  every  day.  He'd  jollied  Mr. 
Mallory  into  lettin'  him  have  a  little  two- 
cylinder  roadster,  and  his  only  real  pleasure 
in  life  was  when  he  could  load  a  few  old  grads 
on  the  runnin'  board  and  go  off  for  a  joy  ride. 

But  after  the  old  man  had  spent  the  cost  of 
a  new  machine  in  police  court  fines  and  repairs, 
even  this  little  diversion  was  yanked  away.  The 
last  broken  axle  had  done  the  business,  and  the 
nearest  Dyke  coHld  come  to  rear  enjoyment  was 
when  he  had  the  price  to  charter  a  pink  taxi 
and  inspire  the  chauffeur  with  highballs  enough 
so  he'd  throw  her  wide  open  on  the  way  back. 

Not  bein'  responsible  for  Dyke,  I  didn't  mind 
having  him  around.  I  kind  of  enjoyed  the  cheer- 
ful way  he  had  of  tellin'  about  the  fam'ly  boy- 
cott on  him,  and  every  time  I  thinks  of  Aunt 
Elvira  still  havin'  him  framed  up  for  a  comer 
in  the  Bishop  class,  I  has  to  smile. 

You  see,  having  gone  so  far  with  their  fairy 


JOY  BIDING  WITH  AUNTY        285 

tales,  the  Mallorys  never  got  a  chance  to  hedge ; 
and,  accordin'  to  Dyke,  they  was  all  scared  stiff 
,for  fear  she'd  dig  up  the  facts  some  day,  and 
make  a  new  will  leavin'  her  rentroll  to  the  for- 
eign missions  society. 

Maybe  it  was  because  I  took  more  or  less 
interest  in  him,  but  perhaps  it  was  just  because 
he  wanted  company  and  I  happened  to  be  handy ; 
anyway,  here  the  other  afternoon  Dyke  conies 
poundin'  up  the  stairs  two  at  a  time,  rushes 
into  the  front  office,  and  grabs  me  by  the  arm. 

' '  Come  on,  Shorty !  ' '  says  he.  * '  Something 
fruity  is  on  the  schedule." 

"  Hope  it  don't  taste  like  a  lemon,"  says  I. 
"  What's  the  grand  rush?  " 

11  Aunt  Elvira  is  coming  down,  and  she's 
called  for  me,"  says  Dyke,  grinnin'  wide. 
"  She  must  suspect  something;  for  she  sent 
word  that  if  I  wasn't  on  hand  this  time  she'd 
never  come  again.  What  do  you  think  of 
that?  " 

11  Aunty's  got  a  treat  in  store  for  her,  eh?  " 
says  I,  givin'  Dyke  the  wink. 

"  I  should  gurgle!  "  says  he.  "I'm  good  and 
tired  of  this  fake  Bishop  business,  and  if  I  don't 
jolt  the  old  lady  out  of  that  nonsense,  I'm  a 
duffer.  You  can  help  some,  I  guess.  Come 
on." 

Well,  I  didn't  exactly  like  the  idea  of  raisin' 
up  with  a  fam'ly  surprise  party  like  that;  but 


286  ODD  NUMBERS 

Dyke  is  so  anxious  for  me  to  go  along,  and  he 
gets  me  so  curious  to  see  what '11  happen  at  the 
reunion,  that  I  fin'lly  grabs  my  coat  and  hat, 
and  out  we  trails. 

It  seems  that  Aunt  Elvira  is  due  at  the  Grand 
Central.  Never  having  tried  the  subway,  she's 
come  to  town  just  as  she  used  to  thirty  years 
ago:  drivin'  to  Kingsbridge  station,  and  takin' 
a  Harlem  river  local  down.  We  finds  the  whole 
fam'ly,  includin'  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Craig  Mallory, 
and  their  two  married  daughters,  waitin'  out- 
side the  gates,  with  the  gloom  about  'em  so 
thick  you'd  almost  think  it  was  a  sea  turn. 

From  the  chilly  looks  they  shot  at  Dyke  you 
could  tell  just  how  they'd  forecasted  the  result 
when  Aunt  Elvira  got  him  all  sized  up;  for, 
with  his  collar  turned  up  and  his  green  hat 
slouched,  he  looks  as  much  like  a  divinity  stu- 
ent  as  a  bulldog  looks  like  Mary's  lamb.  And 
they  can  almost  see  them  blocks  of  apartment 
houses  bein'  handed  over  to  the  heathen. 

As  for  Mr.  Craig  Mallory,  he  never  so  much 
as  gives  his  only  son  a  second  glance,  but  turns 
his  back  and  stands  there,  twistin'  the  ends  of 
his  close  cropped  gray  mustache,  and  tryin'  to 
look  like  he  wa'n't  concerned  at  all.  Good  old 
sport,  Craig, — one  of  the  kind  that  can  sit  be- 
hind a  pair  of  sevens  and  raise  the  opener  out 
of  his  socks.  Lucky  for  his  nerves  he  didn't 
have  to  wait  long.  Pretty  soon  in  pulls  the 


JOY  RIDING  WITH  AUNTY        287 

train,  and  the  folks  from  Yonkers  and  Tarry- 
town  begin  to  file  past. 

"  There  she  is!  "  whispers  Dyke,  givin'  me 
the  nudge.  "  That's  Aunt  Elvira,  with  her  bon- 
net on  one  ear." 

It's  one  of  the  few  black  velvet  lids  of  the 
1869  model  still  in  captivity,  ornamented  with 
a  bunch  of  indigo  tinted  violets,  and  kept  from 
bein'  lost  off  altogether  by  purple  strings  tied 
under  the  chin.  Most  of  the  rest  of  Aunty  was 
obscured  by  the  hand  luggage  she  carries,  which 
includes  four  assorted  parcels  done  up  in  wrap- 
pin'  paper,  and  a  big,  brass  wire  cage  holdin' 
a  ragged  lookin"  gray  parrot  that  was  tryin'  to 
stick  his  bill  through  the  bars  and  sample  the 
passersby. 

She's  a  wrinkled  faced,  but  well  colored  and 
hearty  lookin'  old  girl,  and  the  eyes  that  peeks 
out  under  the  rim  of  the  velvet  lid  is  as  keen 
and  shrewd  as  a  squirrel's.  Whatever  else  she 
might  be,  it  was  plain  Aunt  Elvira  wa'n't  feeble 
minded.  Behind  her  comes  a  couple  of  station 
porters,  one  cartin'  an  old-time  black  valise,  and 
the  other  with  his  arms  wrapped  around  a  full 
sized  featherbed  in  a  blue  and  white  tick. 

"  Gee!  "  says  I.  "  Aunty  carries  her  own 
scenery  with  her,  don't  she?  " 

"  That's  Bismarck  in  the  cage,"  says  Dyke. 

"  How  Bizzy  has  changed!  "  says  I.  "  But 
why  the  feather  mattress!  " 


288  ODD  NUMBERS 

"  She  won't  sleep  on  anything  else/'  says  he. 
"  "Watch  how  pleased  my  sisters  look.  They 
just  love  this — not!  But  she  insists  on  having 
the  whole  family  here  to  meet  her. ' ' 

I  must  say  for  Mr.  Mallory  that  he  stood  it 
well,  a  heavy  swell  like  him  givin '  the  glad  hand 
in  public  to  a  quaint  old  freak  like  that.  But 
Aunt  Elvira  don't  waste  much  time  swappin' 
fam'ly  greetin's. 

"  Where  is  Dyckman1?  "  says  she,  settin'  her 
chin  for  trouble.  "  Isn't  he  here?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  says  Mr.  Mallory.  "  Right  over 
there,"  and  he  points  his  cane  handle  to  where 
Dyke  and  me  are  grouped  on  the  side  lines. 

"  Here,  hold  Bismarck!  "  says  Aunty,  jarn- 
min'  the  brass  cage  into  Mr.  Mallory 's  arm,  and 
with  that  she  pikes  straight  over  to  us.  I  never 
mistrusted  she'd  be  in  any  doubt  as  to  which 
was  which,  until  I  sees  her  look  from  one  to 
the  other,  kind  of  waverin'.  No  wonder, 
though;  for,  from  the  descriptions  she'd  had, 
neither  of  us  came  up  to  the  divinity  student 
specifications.  Yet  it  was  something  of  a  shock 
when  she  fixes  them  sharp  old  lamps  on  me 
and  says : 

"  Land  to  goodness!    You?  " 

"  Reverse!  "  says  I.  "  Here's  the  guilty 
party,"  and  I  pushes  Dyke  to  the  front. 

She  don't  gasp,  or  go  up  in  the  air,  or  throw 
any  kind  of  a  fit,  like  I  expected.  As  she  looks 


JOY  BIDING  WITH  AUNTY        289 

him  over  careful,  from  the  sporty  hat  to  the  wide 
soled  shoes,  I  notices  her  eyes  twinkle. 

"Hum!  I  thought  as  much!"  says  she. 
"  Craig  always  could  lie  easier  than  he  could 
tell  the  truth.  Young  man,  you  don't  look  to 
me  like  a  person  called  to  hold  orders." 

' '  Glad  of  it,  Aunty, ' '  says  Dyke,  with  a  grin. 
"I  don't  feel  that  way." 

"  And  you  don't  look  as  if  you  had  broken 
down  your  health  studying  for  the  ministry, 
either!  "  she  goes  on. 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  they  filled  you  up 
with  that?  "  says  Dyke.  "  Hee-haw!  " 

"  Huh!  "  says  Aunty.  "It's  a  joke,  is  it? 
At  least  you're  not  afraid  to  tell  the  truth.  I 
guess  I  want  to  have  a  little  private  talk  with 
you.  Who's  this  other  young  man?  ' 

"  This  is  Professor  McCabe,"  says  Dyke. 
"  He's  a  friend  of  mine." 

"  Let  him  come  along,  too,"  says  Aunty. 
"  Perhaps  he  can  supply  what  yon  leave 
out." 

And,  say,  the  old  girl  knew  what  she  wanted 
and  when  she  wanted  it,  all  right!  There  was 
no  bunkoin'  her  out  of  it,  either.  Mr.  Mallory 
leads  her  out  to  his  brougham  and  does  his  best 
to  shoo  her  in  with  him  and  Mrs.  Mallory  and 
away  from  Dyke ;  but  it  was  no  go. 

11  I  will  ride  up  with  Dyckman  and  his 
friend,"  says  she.  "  And  I  want  to  go  in  one 


290  ODD  NUMBERS 

of  those  new  automobile  cabs  I've  heard  so  much 
about." 

"  Good!  ."We'll  get  one,  Aunty,"  says  Dyke, 
and  then  he  whispers  in  my  ear,  "  Slip  around 
the  corner  and  call  for  Jerry  Powers.  Number 
439.  He  can  make  a  taxi  take  hurdles  and  wa- 
ter jumps." 

I  don't  know  whether  it  was  luck  or  not,  but 
Jerry  was  on  the  stand  with  the  tin  flag  up, 
and  inside  of  two  minutes  the  three  of  us  was 
stowed  away  inside,  with  the  bag  on  top,  and 
Dyke  holdin'  Bismarck  in  his  lap. 

"  Now  my  featherbed,"  says  Aunt  Elvira, 
and  she  has  the  porter  jam  it  in  alongside  of 
me,  which  makes  more  or  less  of  a  full  house. 
Then  the  procession  starts,  our  taxi  in  the  lead, 
the  brougham  second,  and  the  married  sisters 
trailin*  behind  in  a  hansom. 

' '  My  sakes  !*  but  these  things  do  ride  easy !  ' : 
says  Aunty,  settlin'  back  in  her  corner.  "  Can 
they  go  any  faster,  Dyckmanl  ' 

' '  Just  wait  until  we  get  straightened  out  on 
the  avenue,"  says  Dyke,  and  tips  me  the  roguish 
glance. 

"  I've  ridden  behind  some  fast  horses  in  my 
time,"  says  the  old  lady;  "  so  you  can't  scare 
me.  But  now,  Dyckman,  I  'd  like  to  know  exactly 
what  you've  been  doing,  and  what  you  intend 
to  do." 

"Well,  Dyke  starts  in  to  unload  the  whole  yarn, 


JOY  BIDING  WITH  AUNTY        291 

beginnin'  by  ownin'  up  that  he'd  scratched  the 
Bishop  proposition  long  ago.  And  he  was 
statin'  some  of  his  troubles  at  college,  when  I 
gets  ai  backward  glimpse  out  of  the  side  win- 
dow at  something  that  makes  me  sit  up.  First 
off  I  thought  it  was  another  snow  storm  with 
flakes  bigger 'n  I'd  ever  seen  before,  and  then  I 
tumbles  to  the  situation.  It  ain't  snow;  it's 
feathers.  In  jammin'  that  mattress  into  the 
taxi  the  tick  must  have  had  a  hole  ripped  in  it, 
and  the  part  that  was  bulgin'  through  the  oppo- 
site window  was  leakin'  hen  foliage  to  beat  the 
cars. 

"  Hey!  "  says  I,  buttin'  in  on  the  confession 
and  pointin'  back.  "  We're  losin'  part  of  our 
cargo. ' ' 

' '  Land  sakes !  ' '  says  Aunt  Elvira,  after  one 
glance.  "  Stop!  Stop!  " 

At  that  Dyke  pounds  on  the  front  glass  for 
the  driver  to  shut  off  the  juice.  But  Jerry  must 
have  had  Dyke  out  before,  and  maybe  he  mis- 
took the  signal.  Anyway,  the  machine  gives  a 
groan  and  a  jerk  and  we  begins  skimmin'  along 
the  asphalt  at  double  speed.  That  don't  check 
the  moltin'  process  any,  and  Dyke  was  gettin' 
real  excited,  when  we  hears  a  chuckle  from  Aunt 
Elvira. 

The  old  girl  has  got  her  eyes  trained  through 
the  back  window.  Thanks  to  our  speed  and 
the  stiff  wind  that's  blowin'  down  the  avenue, 


292  ODD  NUMBERS 

the  Mallory  brougham,  with  the  horses  on  the 
jump  to  keep  up  with  us,  is  gettin'  the  full 
benefit  of  the  feather  storm.  The  dark  green 
uniforms  of  the  Mallory  coachman  and  footman 
was  being  plastered  thick,  and  they  was  both 
spittin'  out  feathers  as  fast  as  they  could,  and 
the  Mallorys  was  wipin'  'em  out  of  their  eyes 
and  ears,  and  the  crowds  on  the  sidewalk  has 
caught  on  and  is  enjoyin'  the  performance,  and 
a  mounted  cop  was  starin'  at  us  kind  of  puzzled, 
as  if  he  was  tryin'  to  decide  whether  or  not  we 
was  breakin'  an  ordinance. 

' '  Look   at   Craig !    Look   at   Mabel   Ann !  ' 
snickers  Aunt  Elvira.    "  Tell  your  man  to  go 
faster,  Dyckman.    Push  out  more  feathers!  ' 

"  More  feathers  it  is,"  says  I,  shovin'  another 
fold  of  the  bed  through  the  window.  Even  Bis- 
marck gets  excited  and  starts  squawkin'. 

Talk  about  your  joy  rides !  I'll  bet  that's  the 
only  one  of  the  kind  ever  pulled  off  on  Fifth- 
ave.  And  it  near  tickles  the  old  girl  to  death. 
What  was  a  featherbed  to  her,  when  she  had 
her  sportin'  blood  up  and  was  gettin'  a  hunch 
in  on  Brother  Craig  and  his  wife? 

We  goes  four  blocks  before  we  shakes  out  the 
last  of  our  ammunition,  and  by  that  time  the 
Mallory  brougham  looks  like  a  poultry  wagon 
after  a  busy  day  at  the  market,  while  Aunt  El- 
vira has  cut  loose  with  the  mirth  so  hard  that 
the  velvet  bonnet  is  hangin'  under  her  chin,  and 


JOY  BIDING  WITH  AUNTY        293 

Bismarck  is  out  of  breath.  It's  a  wonder  we 
wa'n't  pinched  for  breakin'  the  speed  laws;  but 
the  traffic  cops  is  so  busy  watchin'  the  feather 
blizzard  that  they  forgets  to  hold  us  up.  Dyke 
wants  to  know  if  I'll  come  in  for  a  cup  of  tea, 
or  ride  back  with  Jerry. 

"  Thanks,  but  I'll  walk  back,"  says  I,  as  we 
pulls  up  at  the  house.  "  Guess  I  can  find  the 
trail  easy  enough,  eh?  ' 

I  s 'posed  I'd  get  a  report  of  the  reunion  from 
him  next  day;  but  it  wa'n't  until  this  mornin' 
that  he  shows  up  here  and  drags  me  down  to 
the  curb  to  look  at  his  new  sixty-horse-power 
macadam  burner. 

"  Birthday  present  from  Aunty,"  says  he. 
"  Say,  she's  all  to  the  good,  Shorty.  She  got 
over  that  Bishop  idea  months  ago,  all  by  her- 
self. And  what  do  you  think?  She  says  I'm  to 
have  a  thousand  a  month,  just  to  enjoy  myself 
on.  Whe-e-e!  Can  I  do  it?  " 

"  Go  it,  son,"  says  I.  "If  you  can't,  I  don't 
know  who  can." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

TUBNING   A   TRICK   FOE  BEANY 

WHEEE'D  I  collect  the  Flemish  oak  tint  on  muh 
noble  br-r-r-ow?  No,  not  sunnin'  myself  down 
to  Coney  Island.  No  such  tinhorn  stunt  for  me ! 
This  is  the  real  plute  color,  this  is,  and  I  laid 
it  on  durin'  a  little  bubble  tour  we'd  been  takin' 
through  the  breakfast  doughnut  zone. 

It  was  Pinckney's  blow.  He  ain't  had  the 
gasolene-burnin'  fever  very  hard  until  this  sum- 
mer ;  but  when  he  does  get  it,  he  goes  the  limit, 
as  usual.  Course,  he's  been  off  on  excursions 
with  his  friends,  and  occasionally  he's  chartered 
a  machine  by  the  day;  but  I'd  never  heard  him 
talk  of  wantin'  to  own  one.  And  then  the  first 
thing  I  knows  he  shows  up  at  the  house  last 
Monday  night  in  the  tonneau  of  one  of  these  big 
seven-seater  road  destroyers,  all  fitted  out  com- 
plete with  spare  shoes,  hat  box,  and  a  double- 
decker  trunk  strapped  on  the  rack  behind. 

* '  Gee !  ' '  says  I.  ' '  Why  didn  't  you  buy  a 
private  railroad  train  while  you  was  about  it, 
Pinckney?  " 

"  Precisely  what  I  thought  I  was  getting," 

294 


TURNING  A  TRICK  FOR  BEANY    295 

says  he.  "  However,  I  want  you  and  Sadie  to 
help  me  test  it.  We'll  start  to-morrow  morning 
at  nine-thirty.  Be  all  ready,  will  you!  " 

11  Got  any  idea  where  you're  going,  or  how 
long  you'll  be  gone?  "  says  I. 

"  Nothing  very  definite,"  says  he.  "  Purdy- 
Pell  suggested  the  shore  road  to  Boston  and 
back  through  the  Berkshires." 

' '  Fine !  ' '  says  I.  "  I'd  love  to  go  meanderin ' 
through  the  country  with  you  from  now  until 
Christmas;  but  sad  to  say  I've  got  one  or 
two— 

"  Oh,  Renee  tells  me  we  can  make  it  in  four 
days, ' '  says  Pinckney,  nodding  at  the  chauffeur. 
"  He's  been  over  the  route  a  dozen  times." 

Well,  I  puts  the  proposition  up  to  Sadie,  ex- 
pectin'  she'd  queer  it  first  jump;  but  inside  of 
ten  minutes  she'd  planned  out  just  how  she 
could  leave  little  Sully,  and  what  she  should 
wear,  and  it's  all  fixed.  I  tried  to  show  her 
where  I  couldn't  afford  to  quit  the  studio  for 
two  or  three  weeks,  just  at  this  time  of  year, 
when  so  many  of  my  reg'lars  need  tunin'  up 
after  their  vacations;  but  my  arguments  don't 
carry  much  weight. 

"  Rubbish,  Shorty!  "  says  she.  "  We'll  be 
back  before  the  end  of  the  week,  and  Swifty  Joe 
can  manage  until  then.  Anyway,  we're  not  go- 
ing to  miss  this  lovely  weather.  We're  going, 
that 'sail!" 


296  ODD  NUMBERS 

"  Well,"  says  I  to  Pinckney,  "  I've  decided 
to  go." 

Now  this  ain't  any  lightnin'  conductor  rehash. 
Bubble  tourin'  has  its  good  points,  and  it  has 
its  drawbacks,  too.  If  you're  willin'  to  take 
things  as  they  corne  along,  and  you're  travelin' 
with  the  right  bunch,  and  your  own  disposition's 
fair  to  middlin',  why,  you  can  have  a  bang  up 
time,  just  like  you  could  anywhere  with  the  same 
layout.  Also,  I'm  willin'  to  risk  an  encore  to 
this  partic'lar  trip  any  time  I  get  the  chance. 

But  there  was  something  else  I  was  gettin'  at. 
It  don't  turn  up  until  along  durin'  the  after- 
noon of  our  second  day  out.  We  was  tearin' 
along  one  of  them  new  tar  roads  between  Nar- 
ragansett  Pier  and  Newport,  and  I  was  tryin' 
to  hand  a  josh  to  Kenee  by  askin'  him  to  be  sure 
and  tell  me  when  we  went  through  Ehode  Island, 
as  I  wanted  to  take  a  glance  at  it, — for  we  must 
have  been  hittin-'  fifty  an  hour,  with  the  engine 
runnin'  as  smooth  and  sweet  as  a  French  clock, 
— when  all  of  a  sudden  there's  a  bang  like 
bustin'  a  paper  bag,  and  we  feels  the  car  sag 
down  on  one  side. 

"  Sacre! ''  says  Kenee  through  his  front 
teeth. 

"  Ha,  ha!  "  sings  out  Pinckney.  "  My  first 
blow-out!  " 

"  Glad  you  feel  so  happy  over  it,"  says  I. 

It's  a  sensation  that  don't  bring  much  joy,  as 


TUBNING  A  TEICK  FOR  BEAXY    297 

a  rule.  Here  you  are,  skimmin'  along  through 
the  country,  glancin'  at  things  sort  of  casual, 
same 's  you  do  from  a  Pullman  window,  but  not 
takin'  any  int'rest  in  the  scenery  except  in  a 
general  way,  only  wonderin'  now  and  then  how 
it  is  people  happen  to  live  in  places  so  far  away. 

And  then  all  in  a  minute  the  scenery  ain't 
movin'  past  you  at  all.  It  stops  dead  in  its 
tracks,  like  when  the  film  of  a  movin'  picture 
machine  gets  tangled  up,  and  there's  only  one 
partic'lar  scene  to  look  at.  It's  mighty  curious, 
too,  how  quick  that  special  spot  loses  its  charm. 
Also,  as  a  gen'ral  rule,  such  things  happen  just 
at  the  wrong  spot  in  the  road.  Now  we'd  been 
sailin'  along  over  a  ridge,  where  we  could  look 
out  across  Narragansett  Bay  for  miles ;  but  here 
where  our  tire  had  gone  on  the  blink  was  a  kind 
of  dip  down  between  the  hills,  with  no  view 
at  all. 

First  off  we  all  has  to  pile  out  and  get  in 
Eenee's  way  while  he  inspects  the  damage.  It's 
a  blow-out  for  fair,  a  hole  big  enough  to  lay 
your  two  hands  in,  right  across  the  tread,  where 
we'd  picked  up  a  broken  bottle,  or  maybe  a  cast 
horseshoe  with  the  nails  in  it.  Then,  while  he 
proceeds  to  get  busy  with  the  jack  and  tire  irons, 
we  all  makes  up  our  minds  to  a  good  long  wTait ; 
for  when  you  tackle  one  of  them  big  boys,  with 
the  rims  rusted  in,  it  ain't  any  fifteen-minute 
picnic,  you  know. 


298  ODD  NUMBERS 

Course,  Pinckney  gets  out  Ms  fireless  bottles 
and  the  glasses  and  improves  the  time  by 
handin'  around  somethin'  soothin'  or  cheerin', 
accordin'  to  taste.  Not  bein'  thirsty,  I  begins 
inspectin'  the  contagious  scenery.  It  wa'n't 
anything  an  artist  would  yearn  to  paint.  Just 
back  from  the  road  is  a  sort  of  shack  that  looks 
as  though  someone  might  be  camp  in'  out  in  it, 
and  behind  that  a  mess  of  rough  sheds  and 
chicken  coops. 

Next  I  discovers  that  the  object  down  in  the 
field  which  I'd  taken  for  a  scarecrow  was  a  live 
man.  By  the  motions  he's  goin'  through,  he's 
diggin'  potatoes,  and  from  the  way  he  sticks 
to  it,  not  payin'  any  attention  to  us,  it  seems 
as  if  he  found  it  a  mighty  int'restin'  pastime. 
You'd  most  think,  livin'  in  an  out  of  the  way, 
forsaken  place  like  that,  that  most  any  native 
would  be  glad  to  stop  work  long  enough  to  look 
over  a  hot  lookin'  bunch  like  ours. 

This  one  don't  seem  inclined  that  way,  though. 
He  keeps  his  back  bent  and  his  head  down 
and  his  hands  busy.  Now,  whenever  I've 
been  out  in  a  machine,  and  we've  had  any  kind 
of  trouble,  there's  always  been  a  gawp  in'  com- 
mittee standin'  around,  composed  of  every  hu- 
man being  in  sight  at  the  time  of  the  casualty, 
includin'  a  few  that  seemed  to  pop  up  out  of 
the  ground.  But  here's  a  case  where  the  only 
party  that  can  act  as  an  audience  ain't  doin'  his 


TURNING  A  TEICK  FOR  BEANY    299 

duty.  So  a  fool  freak  hits  me  to  stroll  over  and 
poke  him  up. 

"  Hey,  you!  "  says  I,  vaultin'  the  fence. 

He  jerks  his  head  up  a  little  at  that,  kind  of 
stares  in  my  direction,  and  then  dives  into  an- 
other hill  of  spuds. 

"  Huh!  "  thinks  I.  "  Don't  want  any  city 
folks  in  his'n,  by  chowder!  But  here's  where 
he  gets  'em  thrust  on  him!  "  and  I  pikes  over 
for  a  closer  view.  Couldn't  see  much,  though, 
but  dirty  overalls,  blue  outing  shirt,  and  an  old 
haymaker's  straw  hat  with  a  brim  that  lops 
down  around  his  face  and  ears. 

"  Excuse  me,"  says  I;  "  but  ain't  you  mis  sin' 
a  trick,  or  is  it  because  you  don't  feel  sociable 
to-day?  How 're  the  murphies  pannin'  out  this 
season?  ' 

To  see  the  start  he  gives,  you'd  think  I'd  crept 
up  from  behind  and  swatted  him  one.  He 
straightens  up,  backs  off  a  step  or  two,  and 

opens  his  mouth.  "  Why — why "  says  he, 

after  one  or  two  gasps.  "  Who  are  you, 
please?  " 

11  Me?  '  says  I.  "  Oh,  I'm  just  a  stray 
stranger.  I  was  being  shot  through  your  cun- 
nin'  little  State  on  a  no-stop  schedule,  when  one 
of  our  tires  went  out  of  business.  Hence  this 
informal  call." 

"  But,"  says  he,  hesitatin'  and  pushin'  back 


300  ODD  NUMBERS 

the  hat  brim,  "  isn't  this — er — aren't  you  Pro- 
fessor McCabe?  " 

Say,  then  it  was  my  turn  to  do  the  open  face 
act !  Course,  knockin '  around  as  much  as  I  have 
and  rubbin'  against  so  many  diff'rent  kinds  of 
folks,  I'm  liable  to  run  across  people  that  know 
me  anywhere ;  but  blamed  if  I  expected  to  do  it 
just  walkin'  out  accidental  into  a  potato 
orchard. 

Sure  enough,  too,  there  was  something  fa- 
miliar about  that  long  thin  nose  and  the  droopy 
mouth  corners;  but  I  couldn't  place  him.  Spe- 
cially I'd  been  willin'  to  pass  my  oath  I'd  never 
known  any  party  that  owned  such  a  scatterin' 
crop  of  bleached  face  herbage  as  he  was  sport- 
in'.  It  looked  like  bunches  of  old  hay  on  the 
side  of  a  hill.  The  stary,  faded  out  blue  eyes 
wa'n't  just  like  any  I  could  remember,  either, 
and  I'm  gen 'rally  strong  on  that  point. 

"  You've  called  my  number,  all  right,"  says 
I;  "  but,  as  for  returnin'  the  compliment, 
you've  got  me  going,  neighbor.  How  do  you 
think  I'm  looking?  ' 

He  makes  a  weak  stab  at  springin'  a  smile, 
about  the  ghastliest  attempt  at  that  sort  of 
thing  I  ever  watched,  and  then  he  shrugs  his 
shoulders.  "  I — I  couldn't  say  about  your 
looks,"  says  he.  "  I  recognized  you  by  your 
voice.  Perhaps  you  won't  remember  me  at 
all.  I'm  Dexter  Bean." 


TURNING  A  TRICK  FOR  BEANY    301 

"  What!  "  says  I.  "  Not  Beany,  that  used 
to  do  architectin'  on  the  top  floor  over  the 
studio!  " 

"  Yes,"  says  he. 

"  And  you've  forgot  my  mug  so   soon?  ' 
says  I. 

"  Oh,  no!  "  says  he,  speakin'  up  quick.  "  I 
haven't  forgotten.  But  I  can't  see  very  well 

now,   you   know.    In   fact,   I — I'm Well, 

it's  almost  night  time  with  me,  Shorty,"  and 
by  the  way  he  chokes  up  I  can  tell  how  hard  it 
is  for  him  to  get  out  even  that  much. 

"  You  don't  mean,"  says  I,  "  that — that 
you " 

He  nods,  puts  his  hands  up  to  his  face,  and 
turns  his  head  for  a  minute. 

Well,  say,  I've  had  lumps  come  in  my  throat 
once  in  a  while  before  on  some  account  or  other ; 
but  I  never  felt  so  much  like  I'd  swallowed  a 
prize  punkin  as  I  did  just  then.  Most  night 
time!  Course,  you  hear  of  lots  of  cases,  and 
you  know  there's  asylums  where  such  people 
are  taken  care  of  and  taught  to  weave  cane  bot- 
toms for  chairs;  but  I  tell  you  when  you  get 
right  up  against  such  a  case,  a  party  you've 
known  and  liked,  and  it's  handed  to  you  sudden 
that  he's  almost  in  the  stick  tappin'  class — 
well,  it's  apt  to  get  you  hard.  I  know  it  did 
me.  Why,  I  didn't  know  any  more  what  to  do 
or  say  than  a  goat.  But  it  was  my  next. 


302  ODD  NUMBERS 

"  Well,  well,  Beany,  old  boy!  "  says  I,  slidin* 
an  arm  across  Ms  shoulder.  "  This  is  all  news 
to  me.  Let's  get  over  in  the  shade  and  talk 
this  thing  over. ' ' 

"  I — I'd  like  to,  Shorty,"  says  he. 

So  we  camps  down  under  a  tree  next  to  the 
fence,  and  he  gives  me  the  story.  As  he  talks, 
too,  it  all  comes  back  to  me  about  the  first  time 
some  of  them  boys  from  up  stairs  towed  him 
down  to  the  studio.  He'd  drifted  in  from  some 
Down  East  crossroads,  where  he'd  taken  a 
course  in  mechanical  drawin'  and  got  the  idea 
that  he  was  an  architect.  And  a  greener  Eube 
than  him  I  never  expect  to  see.  It  was  a  won- 
der some  milliner  hadn't  grabbed  him  and 
sewed  him  on  a  hat  before  he  got  to  42d-st. 

Maybe  that  gang  of  T  Square  sports  didn't 
find  him  entertainin ',  too.  Why,  he  swallowed 
all  the  moldy  old  bunk  yarns  they  passed  over, 
and  when  they  couldn't  hold  in  any  longer,  and 
just  let  loose  the"  hee-haws,  he  took  it  good 
natured,  springin'  that  kind  of  sad  smile  of  his 
on  'em,  and  not  even  gettin'  red  around  the 
ears.  So  the  boss  set  him  to  sweepin'  the 
floors  and  tendin'  the  blueprint  frames  on  the 
roof. 

That's  the  way  he  broke  in.  Then  a  few 
months  later,  when  they  had  a  rush  of  con- 
tracts, they  tried  him  out  on  some  detail  work. 
But  his  drawin'  was  too  ragged.  He  was  so 


TURNING  A  TRICK  FOE  BEANY     303 

good  natured,  though,  and  so  willin'  to  do  any- 
thing for  anybody,  that  they  kept  him  around, 
mainly  to  spring  new  gags  on,  so  far  as  I 
could  see. 

It  wa'n't  until  he  got  at  some  house  plans 
by  accident  that  they  found  out  where  he  fitted 
in.  He'd  go  over  a  set  of  them  puzzle  rolls 
that  mean  as  much  to  me  as  a  laundry  ticket, 
and  he'd  point  out  where  there  was  room  for 
another  clothes  closet  off  some  chamber  here, 
and  a  laundry  chute  there,  and  how  the  sink  in 
the  butler's  pantry  was  on  the  wrong  side  for  a 
right  handed  dish  washer,  and  a  lot  of  little 
details  that  nobody  else  would  think  of  unless 
they'd  lived  in  just  such  a  house  for  six  months 
or  so.  Beany  the  Home  Expert,  they  called  him 
after  that,  and  before  any  house  plans  was 
0.  K.  'd  by  the  boss  he  had  to  revise  'em. 

Then  he  got  to  hangin '  round  the  studio  after 
hours,  helpin'  Swifty  Joe  clean  up  and  listenin' 
to  his  enlightenin'  conversation.  It  takes  a 
mighty  talented  listener  to  get  Swifty  started; 
but  when  he  does  get  his  tongue  once  limbered 
up,  and  is  sure  of  his  audience,  he  enjoys  nothin' 
like  givin'  off  his  views  in  wholesale  lots. 

As  for  me,  I  never  said  a  whole  lot  to  Beany, 
nor  him  to  me;  but  I  couldn't  help  growin'  to 
like  the  cuss,  because  he  was  one  of  them  gentle, 
quiet  kind  that  you  cotton  to  without  knowin' 
exactly  why.  Not  that  I  missed  him  a  lot  when 


304  ODD  NUMBERS 

lie  disappeared.  Fact  was,  he  just  dropped  out, 
and  I  don't  know  as  I  even  asked  what  had  be- 
come of  him. 

I  was  hearin'  now,  though.  It  wa'n't  any 
great  tragedy,  to  start  with.  Some  of  the  boys 
got  skylarkin'  one  lunch  hour,  and  Beany  was 
watchin'  'em,  when  a  lead  paper  weight  he  was 
holdin'  slipped  out  of  his  hand,  struck  the  end 
of  a  ruler,  and  flipped  it  up  into  his  face.  A 
sharp  corner  hit  him  in  the  eye,  that 's  all.  He 
had  the  sore  peeper  bound  up  for  three  or  four 
days  before  he  took  it  to  a  hospital. 

When  he  didn't  show  up  again  they  wondered 
some,  and  one  of  the  firm  inquired  for  him  at  his 
old  boardin'  place.  You  know  how  it  is  in  town. 
There's  so  many  comin'  and  go  in'  that  it's  hard 
to  keep  track  of  'em  all.  So  Beany  just  faded 
out. 

He  told  me  that  when  the  hospital  doctor  put 
it  to  him  flat  how  bad  off  his  bum  lamp  was,  and 
how  the  other  was  due  to  go  the  same  way,  he 
just  started  out  and  walked  aimless  for  two 
days  and  nights,  hardly  stoppin'.  Then  he 
steadied  down,  pulled  himself  together,  and 
mapped  out  a  plan. 

Besides  architectin',  all  he  knew  how  to  do 
was  to  raise  chickens.  He  figured  that  if  he 
could  get  a  little  place  off  where  land  was  cheap, 
and  get  the  hang  of  it  well  in  his  head  before 
his  glim  was  doused  altogether,  he  might  worry 


TURNING  A  TRICK  FOR  BEANY    305 

along.  He  couldn't  bear  to  think  of  go  in'  back 
to  his  old  home,  or  hangin'  around  among 
strangers  until  he  had  to  be  herded  into  one  of 
them  big  brick  barracks.  He  wanted  to  be  alone 
and  outdoors. 

He  had  a  few  dollars  with  him  that  he  'd  saved 
up,  and  when  he  struck  this  little  sand  plot, 
miles  from  anywhere,  he  squat  right  down  on 
it,  built  his  shack,  got  some  settin'  hens,  and 
prepared  for  a  long  siege  in  the  dark.  One  eye 
was  all  to  the  bad  already,  and  the  other  was 
beginnin'  to  grow  dim.  Nice  cheerful  proposi- 
tion to  wake  up  to  every  mornin',  wa'n't  it? 

Does  Beany  whine  any  in  tellin'  it,  though? 
Never  a  whimper!  Gets  off  his  little  jokes  on 
himself  about  the  breaks  he  makes  cookin'  his 
meals,  such  as  sweetenin*  his  coffoe  out  of  the 
salt  bag,  and  bitin'  into  a 'cake  of  bar  soap, 
thinkin'  it  was  a  slice  of  the  soggy  bread  he'd 
make.  Keeps  his  courage  up,  too,  by  trying  to 
think  that  maybe  livin'  outdoors  and  improvin' 
his  health  will  help  him  get  back  his  sight. 

"I'm  sure  I  am  some  better  already,"  says 
he.  * '  For  months  all  I  could  see  out  of  my  left 
eye  was  purple  and  yellow  and  blue  rings.  Now 
I  don't  see  those  at  all." 

"  That  so?  "  says  I,  battin'  my  head  for  some 
come-back  that  would  fit.  '  *  Why — er — I  should 
think  you'd  miss  'em,  Beany." 

Brilliant,  wa'n't  it?    But  Beany  throws  back 


306  ODD  NUMBERS 

his  head  and  lets  out  the  first  real  laugh  he's 
indulged  in  for  over  a  year. 

"  No,  hardly  that,"  says  he.  "  I  don't  care 
about  carrying  my  rainbows  around  with  me." 

"  But  look  here,  Beany,"  says  I.  "  You 
can't  stay  here  doin'  the  poultry  hermit  act." 

"  It's  the  only  thing  I'm  fit  for,"  says  he; 
"  so  I  must." 

"  Then  you've  got  to  let  us  send  you  a  few 
things  occasionally,"  says  I.  "  I'll  look  up 
your  old  boss  and " 

"  No,  no!  "  says  he.  "I'm  getting  along 
all  right.  I've  been  a  little  lonesome;  but  I'll 
pull  through." 

"  You  ought  to  be  doin'  some  doctorin', 
though,"  says  I. 

He  shrugs  his  shoulders  again  and  waves  one 
hand.  "  What's  the  use?  "  says  he.  "  They 
told  me  at  the  hospital  there  wasn't  any  help. 
No,  I'll  just  stay  here  and  plug  it  out  by  my- 
self." 

Talk  about  clear  grit,  eh!  And  maybe  you 
can  frame  up  my  feelin's  when  he  insists  there 
ain  't  a  thing  I  can  do  for  him.  About  then,  too, 
I  hears  'em  shoutin'  from  the  car  for  me  to 
come  along,  as  they're  all  ready  to  start  again. 
So  all  I  does  is  swap  grips  with  Beany,  get  off 
some  fool  speech  about  wishin'  him  luck,  and 
leave  him  standin'  there  in  the  potato  field. 

Somehow  I  didn't  enjoy  the  rest  of  that  day's 


TURNING  A  TRICK  FOR  BEANY    307 

run  very  much,  and  when  they  jollies  me  by 
askin'  who's  my  scarecrow  acquaintance  I 
couldn't  work  myself  up  to  tellin'  'em  about 
him.  But  all  I  could  think  of  was  Beany  back 
there  pokin'  around  alone  in  the  fog  that  was 
settlin'  down  thicker  and  thicker  every  day. 
And  in  the  course  of  two  or  three  hours  I  had  a 
thought. 

"  Pinckney,"  says  I,  as  we  was  puttin'  up  in 
Newport,  "  you  know  all  sorts  of  cracker  jacks. 
Got  any  expert  eye  doctors  on  your  list?  ' 

He  chews  that  over  a  minute  or  so,  and  con- 
cludes that  he  has,  a  Dr.  Jason  Craige,  who's 
right  here  in  town. 

"  He's  the  real  thing,  is  he?  "  says  I. 

"  Most  skillful  oculist  in  the  country, "  says 
Pinckney,  "  and  charges  accordingly." 

"  As  high  as  fifty  a  throw!  "  says  I. 

"  Fifty!  "  says  Pinckney.  "  You  should  see 
his  Cliff  Walk  cottage." 

"  Let's,"  says  I.  "  There's  a  friend  of  mine 
I'd  like  to  have  him  take  a  look  at  to-morrow." 

"  No  use,"  says  Pinckney.  "  He  drops  his 
practice  entirely  during  his  vacation;  wouldn't 
treat  an  Emperor  then,  I've  heard  him  say. 
He's  a  good  deal  of  a  crank  on  that — and 
billiards." 

"  But  see  here,  Pinckney,"  says  I,  and  I  goes 
on  to  give  him  the  whole  tale  about  Beany, 
puttin'  it  over  as  strong  as  I  knew  how. 


308  ODD  NUMBERS 

"  Sorry,"  says  Pinckney;  "  but  I  know  of  no 
way  in  which  I  could  induce  him  to  change  his 
custom.  He's  Scotch,  you  know,  and  as  ob- 
stinate as Hold  on,  Shorty!  I've  an  idea. 

How  strong  will  you  back  my  game  of  bil- 
liards! " 

Now  of  all  the  erratic  cue  performers  I  ever 
watched,  Pinckney  gets  the  medal.  There's 
times  when  he  can  nurse  'em  along  the  cushion 
and  run  up  quite  a  string,  and  then  again  I've 
seen  him  play  a  game  any  duffer 'd  be  ashamed 
of.  But  I  begins  to  smell  out  his  scheme. 

"If  it  means  a  chance  for  Beany,"  says  I, 
li  I'll  bid  good-by  to  five  twenties  and  let  you 
do  your  worst." 

"  A  wager  of  that  sort  would  tempt  Craige, 
if  anything  would,"  says  Pinckney.  "  We'll 
try  it  on,  anyway." 

Whether  it  was  the  bluff  Pinckney  threw,  or 
the  insultin'  way  he  suggests  that  the  Doc  don't 
dare  take  him  up,  I  can't  say.  All  I  know  is 
that  inside  of  half  an  hour  we  was  in  Jason 
Craige 's  private  billiard  room,  him  and  Pinck- 
ney peeled  down  to  their  shirts,  and  at  it. 

As  a  rule  I  could  go  to  sleep  watchin'  the  best 
three-ball  carom  game  ever  played;  but  durin' 
this  contest  I  holds  the  marker's  stick  and  never 
misses  a  move.  First  off  Pinckney  plays  about 
as  skillful  as  a  trained  pig  practicin'  on  the 
piano;  but  after  four  or  five  minutes  of  punk 


exhibition  he  takes  a  brace  and  surprises  him- 
self. 

No  need  going  into  details.  Pinckney  wins 
out,  and  the  Doc  slams  his  cue  into  the  rack 
with  some  remark  about  producin'  the  charity 
patient  to-morrow.  Did  I?  I  routs  Renee  out 
at  daylight  next  mornin',  has  him  make  a  fifty- 
mile  run  at  Vanderbilt  Cup  speed,  and  we  has 
Beany  in  the  eye  expert's  lib'ry  before  he  comes 
down  for  breakfast. 

It  takes  Dr.  Craige  less'n  three  minutes  to 
discover  that  the  hospital  hand  who  told  Beany 
he  was  bound  to  lose  both  lamps  was  a  fat 
brained  nut  who'd  be  more  useful  drivin'  an 
ashcart.  The  Doc  lays  Beany  out  on  a  leather 
couch,  uses  a  little  cocaine  in  the  right  place, 
monkeys  around  a  minute  or  so  with  some  shiny 
hardware,  and  announces  that  after  he 's  laid  up 
for  twenty- four  hours  in  a  dark  room,  usin'  the 
wash  reg'lar,  he'll  be  able  to  see  as  well  as  any 
of  us. 

It's  a  fact,  too;  for  Beany  goes  back  on  his 
old  job  next  Monday  mornin'. 

11  By  Jove!  "  says  Pinckney,  after  the  trick 
is  turned.  "  A  miracle,  Craige!  " 

"  Miracle  be  blowed!  "  says  the  Doc.  "  You 
accomplished  the  miracle  last  night,  Pinckney, 
when  you  ran  thirty-two  buttons  on  scratch 
hits." 

THE  END 


TITLES    SELECTED    FROM 

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HiS   HOUR.    By  Elinor  Glyn.    Illustrated. 

i  ••—•—— 

A  beautiful  blonde  Englishwoman  visits  Russia,  and  is  vio- 
lently made  love  to  by  a  young  Russian  aristocrat.  A  most  unique 
situation  complicates  the  romance. 

THE    GAMBLERS.      By  Charles  Klein  and  Arthur  Hornblow= 
Illustrated  by  C.  E.  Chambers. 

A  big,  vital  treatment  of  a  present  day  situation  wherein  men 
play  for  big  financial  stakes  and  women  flourish  on  the  profits — or 
repudiate  the  methods. 

CHEERFUL  AMERICANS.    By  Charles  Battell  Loomis.    Illus- 
trated  by  Florence  Scovei  Shinn  and  others. 

A  good,  wholesome,  laughable  presentation  of  some  Americans 
at  home  and  abroad,  on  their  vacations,  and  during  their  hours  of 
relaxation. 

THE  WOMAN  OF  THE  WORLE'.    By  Ella  Wheeler  Wilcox, 

Clever,  original  presentations  of  prtsent  day  social  problems 
and  the  best  solutions  of  them.  A  book  every  girl  and  woman 
should  possess. 

THE    LIGHT  THAT  LURES.    By  Percy  Brebner, 
Illustrated.     Handsomely  colored  wrapper. 

A  young  Southerner  who  loved  Lafayette,  goes  to  France  to 
aid  him  during  the  days  of  terror,  and  is  lured  in  a  certain  direction 
by  the  lovely  eyes  of  a  Frenchwoman. 

THE  RAMRQDDERS.        By  Holman  Day,       Frontispiece  by 
Harold  Matthews  Brett. 

A  clever,  timely  story  that  will  make  politicians  think  and  will 
make  women  realize  the  part  that  politics  play— even  in  their 
romances. 

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The  Prodigal  Judge 


By  VAUGHAN  KESTER 

This  great  novel — probably  the  most  popular  book  in|' 
this  country  to-day — is  as  human  as  a  story  from  the  pen 
of  that  great  master  of  "  immortal  laughter  and  immortal 
tears,"  Charles  Dickens. 

The  Prodigal  Judge  is  a  shabby  outcast,  a  tavern  hang- 
er-on, a  genial  wayfarer  who  tarries  longest  where  the  inn 
is  most  hospitable,  yet  with  that  suavity,  that  distinctive 
politeness  and  that  saving  grace  of  humor  peculiar  to  the 
American  man.  He  has  his  own  code  of  morals — very 
exalted  ones — but  honors  them  in  the  breach  rather  than 
in  the  observance. 

Clinging  to  the  Judge  closer  than  a  brother,  is  Solomon 
Mahaffy — fallible  and  failing  like  the  rest  of  us,  but  with 
a  sublime  capacity  for  friendship ;  and  closer  still,  perhaps, 
clings  little  Hannibal,  a  boy  about  whose  parentage 
nothing  is  known  until  the  end  of  the  story.  Hannibal 
is  charmed  into  tolerance  of  the  Judge's  picturesque 
vices,  while  Miss  Betty,  lovely  and  capricious,  is  charmed 
into  placing  all  her  affairs,  both  material  and  sentimental, 
in  the  hands  of  this  delightful  old  vagabond. 

The  Judge  will  be  a  fixed  star  in  the  firmament  of 
fictional  characters  as  surely  as  David  Harum  or  Col. 
Sellers.  He  is  a  source  of  infinite  delight,  while  this  story 
of  Mr.  Kester's  is  one  of  the  finest  examples  of  Ameri- 
can literary  craftmanship. 

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The  Master's  Violin 


By  MYRTLE  REED 


Sfe 


A  Love  Story'  with  a  musical  at- 
mosphere. A  picturesque,  old 
German  virtuoso  is  the  rever- 
ent possessor  of  a  genuine  Cre- 
mona. He  consents  to  take  as 
his  pupil  a  handsome  youth  who 
proves  to  have  an  aptitude  for 
technique,  but  not  the  soul  of 
the  artist.  The  youth  has  led  the 
happy,  careless  life  of  a  modern, 
well-to-do  young  American,  and 
he  cannot,  with  his  meagre  past, 
express  the  love,  the  longing,  the  passion  and  the  trage- 
dies of  life  and  its  happy  phases  as  can  the  master  who 
has  lived  life  in  all  its  fulness.  But  a  girl  comes  into 
his  existence,  a  beautiful  bit  of  human  driftwood  that 
his  aunt  had  taken  into  her  heart  and  home ;  and  through, 
his  passionate  love  for  her,  he  learns  the  lessons  that  life 
has  to  give — and  his  soul  awakens. 

Founded  on  a  fact  well  known  among  artists,  but  not 
often  recognized  or  discussed.'} 


If  you  have  not  read  "LAVENDER  AND  OLD  LACE"  by  the 
same  author,  you  have  a  double  pleasure  in  store — for 
these  two  books  show  Myrtle  Reed  in  her  most  delightful, 
fascinating  vein — indeed  they  may  be  considered  as  mas- 
terpieces of  compelling  interest. 

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TITLES    SELECTED    FROM 

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f  HE  SIEGE  OF  THE  SEVEN  SUITORS.    By  Meredith  Nich- 
dson.    Illustrated  by  C.  Coles  Phillips  and  Reginald  Birch. 

Seven  suitors  vie  with  each  other  for  the  love  of  a  beautiful , 
girl,  and  she  subjects  them  to  a  test  that  is  fnll  of  mystery,  magic 
and  sheer  amusement. 

?HE  MAGNET.    By  Henry  C.  Rowland.    Illustrated  by  Clarence 
F.  Underwood. 

The  story  of  a  remarkable  courtship  involving  three  pretty 
girls  on  a  yacht,  a  poet-lover  in  pursuit,  ana  a  mix-up  in  the  names 
of  the  girls. 

THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD.  By  Eugenia  Brooks  Frothingham. 
A  beautiful  young  opera  singer  chooses  professional  success 
instead  of  love,  but  comes  to  a  place  in  life  where  the  call  of  the 
heart  is  stronger  than  worldly  success. 

SCOTTIE  AND  HIS  LADY.     By  Margaret  Morse.    Illustrated 
by  Harold  M.  Brett. 

A  young  girl  whose  affections  have  been  blighted  is  presented 
with  a  Scotch  Collie  to  divert  her  mind,  and  the  roving  adventures 
of  her  pet  lead  the  young  mistress  into  another  romance. 

SHEILA  VEDDER.    By  Amelia  E.  Barr.    Frontispiece  by  Harri- 
son Fisher. 

A  very  beautiful  romance  of  the  Shetland  Islands,  with  a 
handsome,  strong  willed  hero  and  a  lovely  girl  of  Gaelic  blood  as 
heroine.  A  sequel  to  "Jan  Vedder's  Wife." 

JOHN  WARD.  PREACHER.    By  Margaret  Deland. 

The  first  big  success  of  this  much  loved  American  novelist. 
It  is  a  powerful  portrayal  of  a  young  clergyman's  attempt  to  win  his 
beautiful  wife  to  his  own  narrow  creed. 

THE   TRAIL  OF    NINETY-EIGHT.    By  Robert  W.  Service. 
Illustrated  by  Maynard  Dixon. 

One  of  the  best  stories  of  "Vagabondia  "  ever  written,  and 
one  of  the  most  accurate  and  picturesque  of  the  stampede  of  gold 
seekers  to  the  Yukon.  The  love  story  embedded  in  the  narrative 
is  strikingly  original, 

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TITLES   SELECTED   FROM 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP'S  LIST 

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THE  SILENT  CALL.    By    Edwin    Milton   Royle.     Illustrated 
^       with  scenes  from  the  play. 

The  hero  of  this  story  is  the  Squaw  Man's  son.  He  has 
jeen  taken  to  England,  but  spurns  conventional  life  for  the  sake 
of  the  untamed  West  and  a  girl's  pretty  face. 

JOHN  MARCH.    SOUTHERNER.    By  George  W.  Cable. 

A  story  of  the  pretty  women  and  spirited  men  of  the  South. 
As  fragrant  in  sentiment  as  a  sprig  of  magnolia,  and  as  full  of 
mystery  and  racial  troubles  as  any  romance  of  "after  the  war" 
days. 

MR.  JUSTICE  RAFFLES.    By  E.  W.  Hornung. 

This  engaging  rascal  is  found  helping  a  young  cricket  player 
out  of  the  toils  of  a  money  shark.  Novel  in  plot,  thrilling  and 
amusing. 

FORTY  MINUTES  LATE.  By  F.  Hopkinson  Smith.  Illustrated 
by  S.  M.  Chase. 

Delightfully  human  stories  of  every  day  happenings;  of  a 
lecturer's  laughable  experience  because  he's  late,  a  young  woman's 
excursion  into  the  stock  market,  etc. 

OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31.    By  Louise  Forsslund. 

A  heart-warming  story  of  American  rural  life,  telling  of  the 
adventures  of  an  old  couple  in  an  old  folk's  home,  their  sunny, 
philosophical  acceptance  of  misfortune  and  ultimate  prosperity. 

THE  HUSBAND'S  STORY.    By  David  Graham  Phillips. 

A  story  that  has  given  all  Europe  as  well  as  all  America  much 
food  for  thought.  A  young  couple  begin  life  in  humble  circum- 
stances  and  rise  in  worldly  matters  until  the  husband  is  enormously 

•  rich — the  wife  in  the  most  aristocratic  European  society — but  at  the 

.„  price  of  their  happiness. 

THE  TRAIL  OF  NINETY- EIGHT.      By  Robert  W.  Services 
Illustrated  by  Maynard  Dixon. 

One  of  the  best  stories  of  "Vagabondia"  ever  written,  and 
one  of  the  most  accurate  and  picturesque  descriptions  of  the  stam- 
pede of  gold  seekers  to  the  Yukoa  The  love  story  embedded  in 
the  narrative  is  strikingly  original. 

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THE     SECOND    WIFE.    By  Thompson  Buchanan.  Illustrated 
by  W.  W.  Fawcett.    Harrison  Fisher  wrapper  printed  in  fou» 
solors  and  gold. 

An  intensely  interesting  story  of  a  marital  Complication  hi 
a  wealthy  New  Vork  family  involving  the  happiness  of  a 
beautiful  young  girl. 

TESS  OF  THE  STORM  COUNTRY.    By  Grace  Miller  White. 
Illustrated  by  Howard  Chandler  Christy. 

An  amazingly  vivid  picture  of  low  class  life  in  a  New 
k  ork  college  town,  with  a  heroine  beautiful  and  noble,  who  makes 
a  great  sacrifice  for  love. 

FROM  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  MISSING.    By  Grace  Millei 
White. 
Frontispiece  and  wrapper  in  colors  by  Penrhyn  Stanlaws. 

Another  story  of  "the  storm  country."  Two  beautiful  chi) 
dren  are  kidnapped  from  a  wealthy  home  and  appear  many  years 
after  showing  the  effects  of  a  deep,  malicious  scheme  behind 
their  disappearance. 

THE   LIGHTED   MATCH.     By  Charles  Neville  Buck.    Illus- 
trated  by  R.  F.  Schabelitz. 

A  lovely  princess  travels  incognito  through  the  States  and 
ialls  in  love  with  an  American  man.  There  are  ties  that  bind  her 
to  someone  in  her  own  home,  and  the  great  plot  revohes  round 
her  efforts  to  work  her  way  out. 

MAUD    BAXTER.    By  C,    C.    Hotchkiss.    Illustrated  by  Wil) 
Grefe. 

A  romance  bpth  daring  and  delightful,  involving  an  Amer- 
ican girl  and  a  young  man  who  had  been  impressed  into  English 
service  during  the  Revolution. 

THE    HIGHWAYMAN.    By  Guy   Rawlence.     Illustrated   h? 
Will  Grefe. 

A  French  beauty  of  mysterious  antecedents  wins  the  lota 
of  an  Englishman  of  title.  Developments  of  a  startling  character 
and  a  clever  untangling  of  affairs  hold  the  reader's  iuterest 

THE    PURPLE    STOCKINGS.     By  Edward  Salisbury    Field 
Illustrated  in  colors;  marginal  illustrations. 

A  young  New  York  business  man,  his  pretty  sweetheart, 
his  sentimental  stenographer,  and  his  fashionable  sister  are  all 
mixed  up  in  a  misunderstanding  that  surpasses  anything  in  the 
way  of  comedy  In  years.  A  story  with  a  laugh  on  every  page. 

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